#can i please not be guided by fear every step of the way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hana-no-seiiki · 4 months ago

Text

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓’𝐒 𝐔𝐏 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 ?

╰┈➤ [ CH 02.1 ] LEAP OF FAITH

pairings: yandere! various (batfam, spiderverse) x miles morales! reader

tw/cw: mild yandere themes, stalking, spoilers for the spiderverse movies (this part covers a majority of the first one) and spiderman games. VV LONG PART!! Lots of canon divergences!!! reader gets called a kid multiple times but they’re an adult.

status: severely unedited

a/n: although i included spanish and uncle aaron, please be reminded that [y/n] looks however you’d like! you may even alter how unc looks since i don’t describe his appearance anyways. i’ll also be adding stuff from the spiderman games to expand on some characters so everything is not one to one from the movies.

wanted to get this out sooner for you all so this part will be divided into two or more depending on how far i get into the movie

[previous] [masterlist] [next]

The dark, putrid alleyways of Gotham was a place that should never be treaded by a small, weak kid like you. You cringed at the sound and feel of your favorite shoes sinking into the water with every step, and then frowned at the thought that your mom wouldn’t be the one washing these later now that you lived in a dorm. Still, even if those criminals didn’t capture you for ransom, or maybe your favorite vigilantes didn’t accidentally kill you, you were sure your dad would — no absolutely will. Maybe having a new home to go to wasn’t so bad.

“I’m gonna get in so much trouble.”

You muttered with a massive grin on your features. Fear always treated you a little differently. If anything it made you walk a little faster. It had been a while since you and Aaron had little fun together, and you definitely wouldn’t let a future sermon get in the way of such a rare opportunity.

Your uncle, his hands tucked into his puffer jacket-hoodie hybrid nudged you with his shoulder. Your much smaller, younger frame almost toppled over.

“Hey man, tell him your art teacher made ya.”

“How’d you know about this place?”

“Did an Engineering job down here.” Whew, even hearing the word Engineering from your Uncle made you shudder. “What?” He asked, you couldn’t tell if he was concerned, weirded out, or just chillin’. He was always hard to read.

“Nothing.” You took a deep breath in, “Dad wants me to get into Engineering.”

You two stop at some metal fencing with a door, which was conveniently climbable. Your uncle quickly demonstrated how with a few swift moments. Damn, it was almost as if he was used to breaking and entering.

“And you?” He smirked.

“I-“ You took a deep breath, It wasn’t as if you weren’t used to getting into shenanigans and sneaking into places yourself. You jumped, barely able to reach the door’s height, awkwardly heaved your body upwards to the gap between the fence and the ceiling, before not so gracefully squeezing yourself and your backpack through. “augh — don’t know yet.”

“Whassup?” You looked at your uncle, a huge and crooked grin of triumph in your features.

“Hahaha— I knew we were related. I’ll tell you something though. Just make sure you can pay the bills and sort out your taxes.”

You groaned in response to his advise. You definitely weren’t ready to be a proper adult yet.

You two then proceeded to the best spot you’ve ever seen in Gotham yet.

“Whoa!” Your mouth was so wide open in awe that it almost hurt. You yelled, “Gothaamm!!” Jumping giddily at the echo.

“There’s a lot of history on these walls.” Your uncle let his hand graze across the old graffiti, tracing each line with a soft, yet proud look on his face.

Excited, you swiftly dropped your backpack, taking out a few cans of paint. “This is so fresh.” And so you did your thing. Letting your instincts guide you as you got back into the groove of spray painting. It had been a while, your hands were shaky at times, but nonetheless you were in your element. Free. Unafraid of mistakes or the far future.

You smiled, truly, for once since your enrolment. There was just a few last touches.

“A little help?”

“Wow.”

“Too crazy?”

“Nah, man. [N/N] I see exactly what you’re doing here.” Aaron patted you on the back before he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “You know, your dad and I used to do this back in the day.”

“Stop lyin’! A guy a like him? I bet he snitch on ya right after.”

“No, no, it’s true! But then he took on the cop thing and . . . I don’t know.” Your uncle had a tense look appear on his face. As if he tasted something bitter. And then, a distant, yet sweet nostalgic one replaced it as the words escaped his lips, “He’s a good guy . . . just . . . you know what I’m sayin?”

“Speaking of good. You don’t have to act all strong when you’re with me.” He gave you a light punch to your arm. “I knew you two were close. Heck, I made a couple of bets that you two would get married in the future. Didn’t know I’d lose to nature of all things.”

“Wait. Hang on— bets?!” Blood rushed to your face. You feel warm and cold at the same time. Were you two that obvious?

“I didn’t know him that well. But what I do know is that he put a huge smile on your face. Bigger than any of the ones I could ever draw on ya.” His rubs his thumb to the corner of your lips, “So feeling bad that he’s gone? That’s a given, kid.”

“Thanks, unc.” You leaned into his touch, “But it really isn’t Miguel. It’s—“

His phone rang. Damn.

“Sorry, [N/N]. I gotta roll.”

“No problema.”

A grave look flicked across your uncle’s features. Must have been the stress from work you supposed. Being called at this hour? You were dreading Engineering even more.

“[Y/N]! We gotta go.”

Turns out spending most of the night outside in the cold right before school was a bad idea. It was as if everything was irritating you. Your clothes felt tighter, your sweats… sweatier. Wait. This could only mean one thing.

“I think I hit puberty!” You exclaimed. Finally you could be as tall as those other kids in school.

Realizing you yelled that out loud and startled your roommate was a tad bit embarrassing though. “. . . Ehehe. . . sorry.”

‘I gotta get new clothes.’

‘Wait, why is the voice in my head so loud?’

“Watch where you’re—“ Of all the people you bump into . . . “[L/N].” Damian’s beautiful green eyes would have been great to stare at if he didn’t use them to glare at everyone. You almost shriek at the random tingle you feel behind your neck. Why were you getting goosebumps all of a sudden? I mean he is hot but not that hot.

“You know my—“

“Yeah. I know everyone’s.” He quickly overtook your attempt at a conversation. “6pm. Weekend. Don’t be late, 42.” And there he goes.

Wait, wasn’t that your raffle number?

“How does he know— He- He really has some issues.” You shook your head. Your mom often brought you around the community to help and whatnot, as such you weren’t that fazed when people just knew stuff about you without knowing who they are.

“Talk about it.” In anycase, you know who’s actually that hot?

“Gwen!”

“Hi. You called me by name for once.” Her eyes traveled all over your body, and it took everything in you not to grin like an idiot, scream and turn red all at the same time. “Are you alright or . . ? You’re sweating, like a lot.”

Shit. Damn your body for betraying you! “I am?”

“Hang on.” She brings forth a face towel, a little damp to the touch, but useful nonetheless.

“Sorry, it has my own sweat on it.”

“It’s great, I mean fine! Thank you.” Holy shit you just sweat melded with Gwen. Laughing awkwardly you give it back to her. Or at least attempt to.

“Uh, you can let go now.”

“I think . . . I think it’s stuck to my hand?”

“What?”

“I- It won’t come off!”

You suddenly feel a static, and judging from Gwen’s face, you know she felt it too.

“What was that?!”

“Okay, [Y/N] listen. Pay close attention. I need you to calm down.”

“Calm down?! How does calming down help?!”

“It’ll be much more helpful for you to be calm rather than panicked at the very least!” Gwen slowly inhaled and exhaled. Damn was she good at everything she does? How is she not panicking like you were? “Breathe in, and out.”

In anycase, a couple of breathing exercises later and a horrid excuse to not make your crush — and hence why your nerves were on end despite the calm atmosphere of a library — that obvious. You two part ways.

Well not without a final word from her.

“We have to talk later” She says. The lighthearted, calm tone turned serious.

You don’t know how you got to this moment. Somewhere, sometime when you were running away from the school guards because of your new found powers — you found yourself in a middle of a fight between Spiderman and The Lizard.

“Dr. Curtis, listen to me! You cannot open up a portal to another dimension. Gotham is not zoned for that. We’re barely surviving here in the first place!” Geez harsh dig, but man was he right. You don’t know how many days your mom spent crying wondering if your dad would come back after being sent to fight Joker of all people.

Still your dad never fails to intimidate you. Despite your powers being oddly similar to Spiderman, you think it’d be best if you left before your parents started calling—

“It’s not up to me!”

You gulped, perhaps the lizard looked a little more imposing than a sermon.

“Why won’t you quit?!”

“I guess I like Gotham not being sucked into a black hole?! Metropolis maybe, not Gotham!”

You gasp as the floor beneath you disappears, you find yourself free falling.

THWIP!

“You’re cute. And your shoes are untied.” As if you weren’t already out of breath, Spiderman just had to call you cute while you were basically heaving from all the physical activity and the anxiety of having a giant lizard on your ass. “I’m basically wearing a onesie so I don’t really have to worry about it.” The man makes it worse and approaches you, holding up your Air Jordan’s and tying it laces.

You feel a tingle down your spine that flows down your limbs. One that looped over and over like some sort of feedback. Same as Gwen’s but somehow stronger.

Spiderman snapped his head from your shoes to your face once more. The white eye-like part of his mask widened.

“You’re a Spider, too? Damn.” Spiderman mouthed the last word breathlessly, though it didn’t seem to be out of being tired. He seemed quite . . . relaxed almost. He was in his element.

You shook your head, “I don’t want to be . . .” And clearly, you weren’t being good enough for it if you couldn’t handle even half of what he’s doing.

“We don’t have a choice.” The unyielding nature of his statement took you aback. You weren’t sure if it was out of awe or fear for the future.

“Got a lot going through your head I’m sure. You’re gonna be fine, I can help you. Show you the ropes? I just needta destroy that big machine before the space time continuum collapses. Try not to move around too much.” He gives your shoes one last tug, and you see the mask shift a little around his mouth area. He’s smiling.

He then styles on you by backflipping unto a rail, doing the classic “hero stake out” pose before he saluted, “See ya.”

“Crap.” Spiderman mouthed as the entire contraption collapsed.

“What happened there?! Are you alright?!" You ran to his frankly, horrid state of self. On the floor, bruised and beaten. His mask torn on one of his eyes, revealing a brilliant blue.

“Talk later, escape now.” He coughed, spitting out some blood.

“Right. Where do I. . .?” Crap. Were you really going to learn about Spiderman's real identity just like that? You wondered were such a man lived. Prolly up town where all the socialites were. Dude's probably neighbors with the likes of Bruce Wayn-

“ . . . Gotham Visions Dormitory.”

“I can’t believe Spiderman just slept next door and he’s a senior in my school!”

“Sshhhh! And yeah, well. The world is a small place. Gotham’s even smaller.” He puts a finger on your lips. A sigh escaped his. Seconds pass before he continued, “I just can’t believe Papa’s kid would be my protégé.”

“You-You-Y-You heard that?!”

“I hear a lot of things.”

You nodded at him. You too have heard many things since your powers first manifested. You wonder how he can handle so much stimuli every single day while going to Visions and being a badass hero.

What were you supposed to do again? Right - ! You had a spider to save. You swiftly shuffled through his belongings. Strangely enough you don't see any pictures of him lying around. Not that you wanted to sneak a peek as to how those pretty blue eyes fit into the picture. Not at all.

After a minute or so, you find a first aid kid and begin mending the most damaging areas of his body. Thankfully you don't spot nor feel foreign objects stuck inside him and it seems as if he's already healed many of the minor wounds.

Superheroes man. So cool.

“You seem pretty experienced with handling this kind of stuff. Should I be concerned?”

“Had a friend that got beaten up quite a lot. Picked it up for him. May I?" You gestured to his mask.

“I . . . see. And go ahead. I need a breather and this thing ain't helping."

You patted his face and neck for any indication of where to pull, finding a slit underneath his chin. Gingerly, you tugged on the latex like fabric.

Your [e/c] meeting those baby blues once more, only more clearly now.

And the fan blogs about him were so right, he is blond!

That would make him the second blondie you've had the feedback loop with now that you thought about it. You were about to mention Gwen but -

“Harry!” Spiderman covered the rest of his body with blanket so quickly that you barely even processed the new person by the time he finished making his move.

What the heck- why'd he even let you- was he just making fun of you- using you-

“Pete. Woah. You look . . .” 'Harry' looked at your new Spider tutor with a mildly concerned glance. Not even moving to help you with the first aid.

“Yeah yeah. You know the drill."

“And you . . .” Harry's eyes drift to your spot. You look away, scared of making direct eye contact. Great, another hot guy.

“Papa’s kid. I know.” You mumbled. A rising sense of resentment for your father ebbed and flowed within your spider venom infested veins.

“No no. There is that yeah, but I mean. You’re the one Peter kept—“

“Harry!” 'Peter' groaned. Huh, you never expected Spiderman to have such a nerdy name.

“Fine. Though, he wasn’t lying. You really are cute.”

Peter groaned even louder this time, an achievement considering his face was buried in a pillow for this round.

“You called me cute earlier too, why are you hiding now?”

“That’s different!”

“Woah, Peter called you cute? To your face? Who are you and what have you done to my friend?”

“Shut up.”

You sense an upcoming wave of awkward silence. As such, the kind person that you were, you quickly finished helping Peter with the injuries he had exposed and stated, “That should be it. My room is just next door. To the left. I’ll be there if you need me.”

You silently return the first aid kid where it belonged and sneak your way to the door as if the two men weren't staring at you at this moment. "Goodbye um- sir Peter. Sir Harry."

And then you were gone.

“You don’t mind if we share right?”

“Harry. Could you not? I’m serious.”

“Woah. What’s with the attitude and volume?”

“I. . . like them. A lot. You know this already.” Peter suddenly had this longing look on his face. Equal parts in hopeless romantic and obsession.

“Clearly I didn’t truly comprehend the extent of your yearning ‘til now. Sheesh. Okay, they’re all yours.” Harry paused for dramatic effect, “For now.”

“Harry!”

“Hey, uh — Gwen. Got caught up in something. I’ll talk to you after I’m done with . . . everything. I should be free just before next week starts. See ya.”

Click!

You were never really good with excuses. Your mind raked through everything you knew just to give Gwen that message.

In anycase, overwhelmed as you were. Your feet took you to one place the anxiety and stress seemed to melt away (aside from Uncle Aaron’s crib).

“This week just keeps getting worse.” You sighed, slamming the window to your room shut after sneaking in.

Well, getting in and getting caught right after.

“Police! Put your hands up!” Your father exclaimed. But his voice doesn’t alert you at all. If anything you were bracing yourself for the sermon right after.

“Wait a sec. [Y/N]?” Your mother appeared from behind him with a frying pan in hand.

You took a deep breath. Facing them both.

How could you say that you were afraid? Scared? Unbelievably crushed underneath all this pressure about going to Gotham Visions and possibly becoming a hero of your own soon.

You'd have to fight giant lizards. Giant sandstorm creating men.

And all you had was you,

and your family.

“[Y/N]—? Why aren’t you at—“ You rushed to hug your dad. Encasing the old man with your arms so tight that it almost took the wind out of the poor officer. “Woah woah. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“. . . No. No it’s . . . “ Not. Everything is not okay. You were about to take on the responsibility of a lifetime. Something you couldn’t – shouldn’t — escape even if you all you wished was to run away from it all.

“[Y/N]? Qué te pasa? Is it the earthquake?” Your mother joined in the hug. Rubbing your back as her other hand held her husband (frying pan put aside).

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You asked.

“[Y/N], it’s a weeknight. You made a commitment to that school.”

“Jeff, they’re upset.”

“Of course you can stay.” Your father immediately changed tune. Heh, he really was weak to your mother.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really hate Spiderman?”

“Yeah. . ? I mean, for a vigilante he isn’t as bad as that friend of his, Red Hood—“

“Jeff, mi amor?”

“What? They asked me! Baby you know how I feel about those people c’mon.” Your father’s voice fades away, taking your mother’s stern look as a sign that he may not be wanted there all too much at the moment.

“Tú sabes que él te quiere mucho. That’s why he’s tough on you. You know that, right?”

“Mhm. I . . . I know.” You knew. But most of the time than not you couldn’t fully comprehend or understand your father. Despite clearly never appreciating or responding well to his tough love approach, he kept doubling down and forcing what he thought was good for you. “Mami. Do you ever think about moving out of Gotham?”

Your mother shook her head.

“Our family doesn’t run from things, [Y/N].”

“What’s this?” You gestured the red box Peter handed you. It was wrapped by some blue ribbon.

“My old suit. Figured we should get that part right before anything else.” He watches you with a smile as you opened it. “It’ll just be a placeholder before I give your measurements to my aunt.”

“Your aunt?”

“My partner in crime. Well — fighting crime. Aside from Jace. But we don't talk about him behind his back otherwise he'll just suddenly appear like the devil." He whispered the last part into your ear. Jace? Was that another vigilante? Sounds like a pompous name. Or maybe you’ve been watching Arcane way too much in anticipation for the next season.

“This is . . . a bit too big.”

“Who knows? It might fit, eventually. Spider puberty is a little finicky.”

“Tell me about it.” You’ve gone through a lot of your handkerchiefs from all the sweat you’ve been excreting.

“You mind?” He gestured his hands in a pulling down motion. You tilted your head in confusion but then slowly pieced together that he wanted to help you put it on.

“Go ahead.”

“That should be it.” He patted your back after securing your suit on.

It sagged a bit on your body, but worked nonetheless.

“That static, tingly thing in our heads. What’s that?”

“Spider-sense. It alerts you of incoming danger. It should do you well to listen to it.”

“Listen to static??”

“You’ll learn its language soon enough. In anycase, first on today’s agenda! Web-slinging. Very important. That’s how we get to any place at any time, whenever someone needs us. It’s what puts me — now us — Spiderpeople ahead of other vigilantes in the area.” He said with what you could assume was a big grin on his face by the way his mask moved.

“Alright. What do I do?”

“Just jump across and —“ Peter flicked his wrist forward, almost hitting you with the sticky goo that makes up his web.

You nod. This should be easy enough right?

Jump and flick. Jump and flick.

What you failed to calculate within your plans was that flicking your wrist needed to be timed precisely otherwise your web would not reach its proper destination.

“AAAAAAAH—!” You screamed as your webs landed on air, your body falling down.

With your eyes sewn shut, you fully expected a crash and the painful reality of falling at least 5 stories.

But somehow, you miraculously get caught. You opened your eyes and . . .

“Woah.” Your mouth went agape. If Peter was cute, whoever just saved your ass (literally) was pretty. Impeccable pale skin, dark and mysterious blue eyes that screamed sleepless but nonetheless striking, and oh his hair. Jet black. Perfectly framing his face.

And as if the heavens decided to reward you for trusting Peter's guidance and taking the fall (literally), it seemed that the ogling was not one-sided, “Are you an angel from heaven?” You both say in sync.

It had not been a moment since that came out from your mouth and you already regretted it. Augh. Cringe.

“Timmy! Old pal!” Peter landed behind him with a large smack to the shoulder, almost making this ‘Timmy’ drop you. “I see you’ve met my protégé.”

“Spider . . .” Peter struggled to put a title on you, “ . . . baby meet Timothy “Tim.” Drake, my underclassman. Timsies, meet my new partner.”

“He knows?” You whispered, as if Tim wasn't there still holding unto to you.

“Yep, he’s actually the Red Robin.” Peter whispered back, playing along with you.

“Peter!” Tim whisper-shouted, smacking Peter’s nape. Not before putting you down gently, of course. What a gentleman.

“R-r-red RobIN?! I’m such a huge fan! I - I bought all of your merch and—“ An alarm went off from inside your suit. You curse as you realized that getting your phone out to close it would take ages. Thankfully you knew what it meant however.“Crap. I gotta go.”

“Go where—?” Peter questioned.

“Well, I have this project with this kid from my class, Damian Wayne?”

“You were partnered with him? Good luck.” Tim had a look of both pity and a hint of delight.

“That happens to be Tim’s little brother.” ‘Barely’ the person in question muttered. “Why don’t I bring you there? Think I should have given you a proper example before throwing you off a building.”

“Why am I not surprised that you almost broke someone’s back with your antics? One day you’ll get ‘em killed.”

Peter doesn’t even answer him properly, “Oh no, your coffee.”

“Ah.” Tim stared at the brown stain in the snow. “I’ll just buy another one. Take care you two.”

And you somehow don’t throw up as Peter took you to the skies. He gives you pointers once on air. Something about wrist angles, pendulum theories and a whole bunch of physics. Unfortunately for him, half of the time was spent with you being thinking and being distracted by how pretty Tim was.

“You’re a godsend. Sometimes.” At least, even with the crap spider tutelage, being a baby spider meant free, fast rides across the New York.

“Just your friendly neighborhood spider.”

You heard lightning in the distance.

“Never gets old.” Peter put his hands on his hips. Neither surprised nor creeped out by the eerie ambiance. “Don’t worry about the creepy atmosphere, the Waynes are huge softies inside. I’ll pick you up at . . . ?”

“Oh, no no no! I’ll be fine. You’ve already helped a lot. (and almost killed me a couple of times) Thank you.” You vehemently denied his help. Fearing for what may happen despite the safe journey here.

“Always here to help. Or not. Good luck, Spiderbaby!”

“You’re on time.” The green-eyed classmate of yours looked raised his annoyingly perfect eyebrows. Considering your track record with classes, you couldn’t blame him.

“Of course.” Damian terrified you way too much for you to be late. He does not reply, so you open your mouth to keep the atmosphere from being too awkward, “Nice place you—“

“No small talk. Now that you’re done fulfilling the bare minimum. We can begin. Follow me.”

He led you through a bunch of hallways. Probably filled with antiques that would make your entire neighborhood go bankrupt. Your past experiences in rich people’s houses made you repeat one thing in your head as your treaded the extravagantly carpeted hall

‘Keep your arms to the side.’ His voice bounced around in your head. Echoes of the past that you've buried for so long. The moment you even raised a finger, you could be charged for theft. Especially if the owner was extra elitist and a douche. Like how his dad used to be.

“Woah, you draw too? These are so cool!” You ogled as you and Damian reached his room. It was as fancy as you expected it to be. Dreary and dark if not for the presence of animal toys and art supplies.

“I said no—“

You continued yapping, far too excited by the concept of Damian having something in common with you to stop. “A whole Windsor and Newton set, of course. I could only wish to have these.” You sighed dramatically. If only you could—

You feel static down your spine. Just by the width of a hair you managed to dodge Damian throwing a paintbrush at you. You look behind to see the wooden end of it stuck within a wall.

“What the heck, that could have hurt!”

“You have good reflexes.”

“Not even a sorry?” Damian raised one of his eyebrows (which are super thick now that you looked closely) and then gave you one scathing hot glare. “Fine, fine.”

It took about half an hour before you found yourself dosing off to dreamland.

“What are you doing? We don’t have all night to work—“

“I’m done. Been waiting for you for forever.”

“Give me that.” He snatched your paper off of your hands.

“Hey!”

“This is . . . acceptable.” He then waved your paper around before slamming it unto the table. “Only that it doesn’t hold any substance at all. It’s too vague. Our teacher told us to talk about our personal experiences. Not hypothetical ones.”

“I’m afraid if I write my personal experiences it’d be way too depressing.” You half joked. Trying yet failing to get a laugh out of your partner to ease the mood. A terrible one to pick for that reason but hey, playing dumb this entire year was your forte at this point.

Maybe cause you were actually a little stupid in some places.

“Then write it.”

“I just said—“

“So what if your life is depressing? It’s your own life. Your story. If she judges you for being honest then it’s her fault.”

“Damian?” Your mouth agape in awe, you said, “You’re so cool, y’know that?”

Besides being the son of Bruce Wayne, he was also the little brother of your favorite hero. You’ve also heard of the rumors. How perfect Damian was at everything. Some people were just favored by the Gods you supposed.

“I know. Besides it’s what was written in the instructions.” Damian huffed. Again, seemingly unaffected by your words. Understandably so, he probably got praised on the daily with how utterly immaculate he was.

Kind of makes you want to push his buttons.

“To be honest, you seemed so scary I almost bailed. Glad my fear of angering you outweighed my fear of you in general.”

“Hm.” Nope. Nothing at all. At least, nothing that you’ll ever see. As the moment you looked away out of boredom, an ever so faint smirk etches itself unto Damian’s countenance.

The rest of the evening passed in silence. Nothing comfortable, you were in an eerie mansion with one of the scariest people you knew after all, but nothing too awkward or chilling either.

“Bye Damian! It was nice working with you!” You waved, making your exit. A sense of relaxation and slight euphoria in your veins as you finally got whatever that was done.

“They seemed nice.”

Damian does not reply to Alfred’s words verbally. Only nodding as a polite response before he left.

Alfred stared at your form as it grew smaller. “. . . albeit a tad familiar.”

“Hey, Mig.” Your body instinctively relaxed as you saw the picture frame above his gravestone, right next to a large bouquet of fresh flowers; a thin layer of snow atop of it.

You wiped it off from both items, before proceeding to kneel down as you always did during your visits, “I missed ya.” You began.

“I’ve been a bit behind on my Spanish lessons, and I haven’t had much use for it since, you know.” Your hand moved around, animated. “Everything has just been so hectic. I feel like every single time I thought things were at its worst the world just piles on more duties for me to take.” And then it fell back to your side.

You bury your face into your knees.

“Is this what you felt like?” You recalled the hours he spent perfecting table manners and speech. The way his life was turned upside down by a single revelation of his parenthood. “Your dad got a lot nicer when you were gone. Your death was definitely a wake-up call to his prejudices. He even offered to pay for my fees at Visions.”

Of course, you refused. Citing the fact that now that Miguel was gone there was no use to niceties. It was too late, your opinion of him and those rich folks who walked all over you would never change no matter how much they poured.

. . . Actually, you change your mind. With the way the current Spiderman was teaching you, you might need some help paying a couple hospital bills along with damages of property.

“You are supposed to be where I am. I bet you’d do a lot better as a Spiderman too.”

In fact, you believed that he would have been perfect. Miguel was the kindest, most self sacrificing person you knew. He would have taken this responsibility with stride and his head held high.

If only you had a better teacher. Someone who was more practical and had more experience.

“Hey Kid.”

After what felt like a chase and a half, you managed to bring the man you knocked out back home. It took a while but you knew your father had some rope, a punching bag, and a place where you wouldn’t get caught (your room, securely locked with a table).

But most importantly, what your dad had was a lot of movies with cops/detectives in them. Interrogation techniques were always something he’d discuss and use on you whenever you’d do something against the house’s ‘laws.’ Which was… more often than not.

“Why do you look like Peter?”

“Because I am Peter.”

You looked at him with a face of utter disbelief. Gesturing to his form you questioned, “Then why are you older? Why is your hair different? Why is your nose broken? And why is your body a-a different . . . shape?”

“Did you just call me fat?”

“N-no- just different!”

“Hey listen kid. Fat shaming isn’t a part of cute privilege alright?”

Ignoring the part where this random ass stranger called you cute, for the sake of this conversation’s brevity and your curiosity you surmised the following, “Are you . . . Are you from another dimension, like from a parallel universe where things are like this universe but different and you’re Spiderman in that universe but somehow traveled to this universe, but-but you don’t know how?”

“Wow cute and smart. That was really just a guess?”

“Learned about it in physics. Visions really drills those in within the first month.”

“Quantum Theory.” You two mouthed in sync.

“This is amazing! I can have two teachers! You seem a bit more experienced too. Maybe I can minimize the bones I break this way!”

“Yeah right.” He swiftly dismissed your idea. Groaning at the thought of dealing with what was basically a child in comparison to his experience.

“Please?”

“Well here’s lesson one kid; don’t watch the mouth. Watch the hands.” And the whole thing that tied him to the punching bag unraveled. Damn it, that took you at least an hour to do! Not only that but the man then kicked the thing at you, making you slam backwards unto a door. Yikes.

“Other Peter, seriously—!” And now you have his web all over your mouth. Great.

“Trust me, kid. This’ll all make you a better Spiderman.” Peter—or whoever this rude man was—jumped out of your window and slung a web, ready to leave. But before he could take off, his body suddenly glitched, the distortion rippling across his form, and he crashed downward, slamming through a set of stairs with a loud thud.

“Hey, are you - are you . . . okay?” You asked, wiping off the remnants of his web from your lips. “What’s going on with your body?”

“I don’t think my atoms are all jazzed about being in the wrong dimension.” He turned his body around, facing you and glitching once more. “Look, I’m not looking for a side gig as a Spiderman coach. ‘Sides you already have one! With a not broken nose! And I got a little going lot on in my dimension.”

“I heard a wise guy once saying that with great power comes great—“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence! Don’t do it! I’m sick of it!” He pointed at you with an accusatory finger, his voice trembling with frustration. And then he glitches again. Huh you might have felt bad if he didn’t just kick and webbed you. “Want my advice? Go back to being a regular kid. We already have a bunch of vigilantes in Gotham I’m sure they can work things out.” He spoke as he hung from a platform with one hand.

“I’m part of this now. I can’t just run away! That supercollider could potentially destroy my universe, everything and everyone I know!”

“What did you say?” Suddenly, Peter turned his head to look at you.

“I can’t just run away?”

He started walking towards you, feet sticking to the brick walls like a natural, “Blah blah responsibility! Who cares about that? Where’s this collider?”

“Under Fisk Tower.”

“Goodbye.” He walks back down the walls. Tearing the eye contact he held with you just seconds ago like it was nothing.

“Where are you going?”

“When it runs, I’ll jump in and get back to my life.”

“You can’t let them run it! You don’t even know if you’ll get sent to the correct dimension much less be alive through it all!” You attempt to follow him, not so gracefully sliding down the walls, “We’re supposed to destroy it so it doesn’t run at all and cause — I don’t know — a rupture in the—“

“‘Space time continuum’ That is what they always say. But there’s always a little bit of time before everybody dies and that’s when I do my best work.”

“You’re really gonna go home and leave me, a kid mind you, to figure this out all by myself?”

“No, I’m leaving you with other, frankly speaking, much more responsible vigilantes to fix whatever aftereffects of that thing is.”

“You good with that Spiderman?”

“Yeah.”

You sighed, falling to your knees.

Older Peter looks back at you from the rooftop with the most unamused look he's ever had this whole night. “What are you doing?”

“Using my ‘cute privilege’ to make you feel guilty. Is it working?”

“I hate kids. How could it— No. Look at me. Does it look like it’s working? No, no it’s —Ohohoho. AAAHH! NO! NO! DO NOT LET THEM WIN!”

You muster all your will not to smile or laugh at his mighty attitude falling at the face of your cuteness.

“Alright kid, you win. We don’t have a second to lose. Bring me to your Spiderman mentor you mentioned.”

“Mmm. I love this burger. So delicious. Mmm. One of the best burgers I’ve ever had. In my universe this place closed six years ago. Mmm. I don’t know why. I really don’t. Mmm!” Peter Burnout spoke as he gorged himself in food. Some of the ketchup spraying to yours and OG Peter's face.

A waiter passes by and drops a bill on your table.

“You have money, right? I’m not very liquid right now.”

“I can’t believe you replaced me!” Peter cried as he looked at his older, more . . . rotund counterpart.

“Peter. Sir. Respectfully speaking super healing doesn’t really help with pain from broken bones. If anything I’m just grateful I didn’t give my parents a whole buttload of debt from my injuries.”

“And I was — pfft — really sorry about that!”

“You’re still laughing about it!” You yelled, watching Peter do his best to hide his amusement at your predicament. This man who so calmly took care of a giant wizard and a world ending collider, did not have the chops for acting or lying at all. “Back to the topic at hand people. Any Spiderman tips Other-Peter?”

“Yeah I got plenty.” He said as he licked his fingers clean. Gross.

“Disinfect the mask. You’re gonna wanna use baby powder in the suit, heavy on the joints. You don’t want any chafing, right?”

“That . . . is actually pretty useful.” You nod, bringing out your phone to quickly type down his words. Although you didn’t have a proper suit yet, you always wonder how heroes felt underneath all that tight latex like material. Of course, you’ve attempted cosplays and whatnot but those have always been with cheap, sweat inducing products.

“Speaking of, your suit should be ready in a bit. Do you have a color of preference?” Your Peter brings up.

“Think I’ll go with [Color(s)] and Red. Just to match up with you a little.” You replied, attempting your best version of your Uncle’s cool nonchalant smile as you were gushing in excitement inside. You then looked back to Peter B. “Anything else?”

“Nope, that was everything.”

“And I thought OG Peter was bad.”

“Hey!” Peter clutched his chest as he feigned hurt. You only deadpan at him, a broken heart won’t soothe your broken bones.

“Look up more about Fisk Tower and whoever you fought at the collider.” Peter B. instructed as he grabbed your french fries.

“Kingpin.” You muttered, typing down ‘Fisk Tower’ as per his instruction.

“Him? Must have been tough that one.”

“Alchemax?”

“Great. We have a lead. Now check where it is.”

“Hudson Valley.”

“Other-Peter can teach me to swing on the way there!” You make a ‘thwip’ ‘thwip’ ‘thwip’ motion with your hands, a huge excited smile gracing your features.

And… it’s quickly replaced with a disappointed frown once you three stepped into a bus, “I’m not swinging to the Hudson Valley! Not after a hearty burger breakfast. Keep your arms and legs fresh. You’re gonna thank me later.”

“Still think I’m a bad teacher.” Peter nudges you with his elbow, a stupidly cute grin on his face.

“Yep.” Peter loses his confident smirk real quick, “Not the worst but still bad. To be fair to Peter B. he hasn’t gotten me injured yet.”

“That’s a no on the cape.”

“But it’s my latest Robin merch I wanna have it for my first mission—“

“No.” The two Spidermen stated in sync, though one much more sternly than the other.

OG Peter pinches the bridge of his nose, “Do you know how many times I’ve had to help the Robins with their cape related problems? I’ve told every single one of them that it won’t work, but they just have to follow Batman’s footsteps.”

“So the theory about the Robins being different people really is true huh…” You thought to yourself, knowing that your two mentors could probably hear you even if you mumbled.

Other Peter also pinches the bridge of his (less perfect) nose, “Yeah take that off. It’s disrespectful. Both to the mantle of Spiderman and every Incredibles movie there is.”

You pout but heed their advice. You took off the yellow and black cape, a sniff in grief follows.

“Okay spiderfolks here’s the plan: Step 1, we infiltrate the lab. 2 Find the head scientist’s computer.” Peter B. Parker started laying down the plan. A surprisingly detailed one considering. . . Well the man’s incompetent to say the least. “Step 4: I download the important stuff. Then 5, I grab a bagel from the cafeteria and run.”

“What are we supposed to do?” You asked, already knowing what he’ll answer with but still clinging unto hope.

“Step 6: Lookout. That’s a very important job. Watch and learn kid I’ll quiz you later!”

“I’m totally the better teacher right?” OG Peter asks you. His puppy eyes on display.

“Anything is better than janky, old, broke hobo spider.”

“Fair enou—“ Peter began his reply but was interrupted by you absolutely decimating a boulder with your fist. “That’s new. And good to know. That’ll come in handy in fights annndddd when I know you’re angry.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Touché. We goin’ in?”

“Oh we’re definitely going in.”

“Whoa!”

“You alright?”

“Not so much with you on top of me!” You whisper shouted. Seriously, even with your new super strength this man was built like a fridge.

“Let’s go. Other Peter!” You whisper shouted again, crawling through the vents with much more noise than needed. Slamming face first unto the Burnout’s ass.“Ah! Other Peter!”

“What are you doing here?!”

“Kingpin’s here. Just move your butt over.” You moved between his legs and then his arms before shimmying yourself beside him.

“Augh, you’re stepping on my foot. Get back outside!”

“No! I - We can’t just sit and let you get caught — or - or die without doing anything about it. I’m not doing that again!” You felt guilty enough with how fucked up Peter OG was after the fight last time, you’re sure as hell ain’t letting that happen again under your watch.

Peter Burnout just stares at you. Silent and unmoving.

“What?”

“Most people I meet in the workplace try to kill me, so . . . you’re a nice change of pace.”

“You have such a low bar. You need to surround yourself with better people. A proper support system is really important for hero mental health.”

“I’m guessing there’s no more room for me there.” Peter pipes up from behind the two of you.

“No.”

“Mr. Fisk. Look at this data. I know you can’t really understand it but these are really good numbers.”

“ . . . Anddd I got the password!”

“Wait wh-“ You looked at him, incredulous. Other Peter can be cool sometimes.

“Um, Mr. Fisk, if we fire again this week, there could be a black hole under Gotham. You see this and this? This is multiple dimensions beginning to crash into each other.”

Peter puppets his hand as she speaks.“This is pretty standard Spider stakes. You get used to it.”

You turned your head to OG Peter for confirmation. That couldn’t be right, right? He was just a kid like you! I mean you never felt any threats to your safety at all during your whole time at Gotham, but then again you lived with a cop dad and an incredibly rich b—

OG Peter nods. He nods! You have a mini anxiety attack inside. You make a mental note to give him more respect in the future. “You get used to hearing threats to your safety and the world? I think you both just need therapy.” Okay but not too much that you don’t get to cash in a quip. What? You were a Spider. It was literally in your blood.

“Watch this.” Peter B. tapped your shoulder several times to get your attention back, “He’s gonna say, “You’ve got 24 hours’”

“You’ve got 24 hours.” He winks at you.

“What this means is that there’s going to be a rupture in the space time continuum!” Dr. Olivia continued.

“Ooh. That’s bad. Actually, everything she said was bad I was lying before.”

“Good to see you admit and communicate your feelings and concerns in a healthy matter, Mr. Other Parker.” You nod in approval. The two of you then move out, one more gracefully than the other.

“Wooh, it was getting a lil tiring just staring at other me’s ass.”

“Just his?” You asked, almost offended that your cake wasn’t mentioned.“Sorry didn’t mean to flirt on the job—“

“No, no, no! Flirting is very much welcomed. I’m single.” OG Peter admitted. His body practically trembling at the awkwardness of his confession.

“Not to be the savior of this awkward atmosphere you kids are creating but a little help here? What are you doing bud?”

“I- I’m stuck! I can’t move!” Not this again.

“Okay, relax your fingers. We don’t have time. Just let go. Be in the moment.”

“I am in the moment! It’s a terrible moment!”

“[Y/N]. Breathe in and out.” OG Peter tried to pull you off but is unable to due to his super strength potentially decimating the octagon shaped lights.

“They’re right there, they’re gonna see you! [Y/N], you gotta unstick. What do you do to relax?”

“You listen to music right? Why don’t you think of a tune that helps you chill out?”

“Relax. Okay, okay, okay.” You close your eyes. Thinking of what you always did when you wanted to relax.

The Robins.

Ah yes, the perfect specimen that is the OG Robin. His musculature that rivaled the Greek sculptures of old. And better yet, his ass? Good lord. You were so glad when he moved on to be Nightwing and shed off that horrid cape. Maybe Spiderman was right, capes were no good.

“Ah . . . Nightwing.” You think back to the pictures you drew of your OC and the vigilante and a finger unsticks. You reminisce of the times you’ve seen them in real life, out at night when your family thought you were asleep and another finger pops off.

You fall once you remember the moment you took a photo with him. “Nightwing. . .”

“Teenagers. Just the worst.” Peter Broken Nose sighed at your hormonal moment.

“Wait, where did [Y/N] go?” Peter Perfect Nose asked, whipping his head around as if you might materialize out of thin air.

“I’m right here.”

“Where? We can’t see you.”

“Pete, I’m literally right in front of you.” You looked down at your hands, stunned to see that you were in fact, invisible, “Can Spider-Man turn invisible in your universe?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Ow!” You groaned as you reeled from Peter B’s slap. “What was that for?”

“This is incredible! Some kind of fight or flight thing.”

“What’s that?”

Pop! And you disappeared. Out of sight. But never out of mind.

"This might pinch a little." She then shoved him unto a chair that automatically strapped him on. You were about to gawk at the kind of furniture she kept around. Thankfully OG Peter had his uses and kept you on track.

"Organize your desktop, lady." You sweated at the amount of icons she had on there. Insane behavior this was.

"This'll take too long. Grab everything before she spots us." And he takes to the ceiling.

"Wow, just complete cellular decay. Never seen anything like this!" Dr. Olivia observed cheek cells she swabbed out of Peter Burnout. You slowed down in concern. Glitching must be completely painful. You had to get him back to his dimension as soon as possible.

And so you followed your tutor’s command.

"What are you two doing?" Peter shook his head as he spots a floating PC and monitor, you, slowly moving to the exit.

"Just taking the whole thing!"

"And obviously you've been glitching."

"Oh god, [Y/N] hurry up!" OG Peter whisper shouts.

"You stay on this dimension for too long your body will start to disintegrate. Do you know how painful that would be, Peter Parker?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"You can't imagine. And I for one, can't wait to watch."

You look to Peter above you, a silent pause as if to say, "This lady is actually insane." Like seriously, how can she teach students like you with a mouth like that?

"What did you say your name was?"

She stood up. A relaxed posture to her form. Her hands reached up to remove her octagonal glasses. "Dr. Olivia Octavius."

Holy shi—

[AUTHOR’S NOTE]:

Character: *breathes*

Author: You’re part of the harem now.

(removed those that couldn’t be tagged) TAGLIST IS FULL!!! SO SORRY FOR THE REST!!! I’LL TAG YOU ON A REBLOG!!!

taglist: @yell0wdreams @humanoid606 @holybatflapexpert @girlcrafter408 @imbiafandbored @miwsolovely @manduse @kiyomisan @vanessa-boo @w31rdg1rl @crystalsbirds @ghestie93 @animelover745-blog @phoenixgurl030 @speckle-meow-meow @mysteriouslyfantasticthief @beta-is-sleeping @day-dreams-posts @paranoiac-666 @ghestie93 @7074lly @yourcutelittlegayfriend @altusha @proffesorbunny @snowwy-night @moonchild-cupcake @the1an0n1y @fuck-the-reaper @siphite @mel-star636 @trickysnack19 @thatone-gayweeb @swagbucksjester @starwritesyanderes @gaozorous-rex-blog @rainnyydaysworld @0-undead-0 @taru-nami @iiiitsfoxie @one-green-frog @victoria1676 @sugarrush-blush @arlynared @ceramic-raven @carnalcrows @victoria1676 @sugarrush-blush @suckitsideways @urminebutidontwantyou @badussyussysstuff

760 notes · View notes

simonz-angel · 6 months ago

Note

LOVE YOUR WRITING 😝😝‼️

can we get simon fluff please?? 🙏

purely sfw, like how he’d cheer you up after a bad day. some hugs, kisses, cuddles, jokes, tickles, etc. etc. 💜

hii lil nonnie!! i hope i did this justice… dunno if you noticed but i typically don’t lean towards the sweet stuff. anyways please lemme know if you love this or not (or anyone plz guys) i put some real love into this just for you sweet pie ♡♡♡

❥ simon… the big, broody man? nah, he’s an absolute ball of fluff, of candy-like sweetness that melts into you with every touch, soul binding to yours with every sweet kiss, every sweet moment.

❥ he’d be one to kiss you every step through the door, it was like he couldn’t get enough. could never memorize the softness of your lips, the hesitation in your touch, unsure if he’s hurt. it was dizzying every time, his thin, cracked lips simply pressed against yours had worlds colliding, his world splitting open.

❥ and he’s the type to crack his eyes open right when the suns rising, feet padding their way to kitchen to get a roast heated. and you’d soon be behind him, in one of his big t-shirts, hair tousled, eye brows scrunched and pouting up at him. god, it was a sight every morning, and gah it had him soaring, depths into the heavens to know he had you beside him.

❥ he loved how when he barged through the door bloody and battered he had someone to lean on. you’d be rushing over, pressing your lips to his cheek then to his before you’re guiding him to the bathroom. your gentle heart is what he fell in love with, the way you’d care so deeply and the way your warmth could mute any pain in these worlds.

❥ he hated how he succumbed so deeply to every desire of yours, but when you’d beg for five more minutes in bed, he’d sigh softly and grip you tighter, pulling you further into him. sitting warm beneath the sheets, limbs tangled as your inhales matched rhythm and your exhales combined, dancing around.

❥ or when you’d convince him for late night snuggles up on the couch, pleading with a “the movies almost over, please si?” and he could never reject your glowing eyes, your lips pulled so downward your cheeks begin to dimple. it’d always end with you asleep against the soft beat of his heart, a lullaby truly. and he’d have to pick you up bring you up to your bedroom.

❥ he’s one to admire audibly. whispering sweet things for only your being to hear, voice so soft it barely touches the air. mumbling at how your so perfect, so beautiful, the best thing life has granted for him. he’d go through lives n lives of hardships if it meant he had you waiting for him.

❥ he’s one to crack jokes to see your pretty teeth sparkle when your lips pull into the most shattering smiles he’s ever seen. it was mesmerizing every fuckin’ time, watching you giggle and shoo at him as your cheeks flushed and your lungs hiccuped for a deep breath.

❥ n when you wouldn’t smile, when you’d brush him off with a tired eyes a droop to that memorable smile, his heart would fail. and he’d sit you down, fingers dancing along your scalp to feel your soft breaths against his chest. he’d let you speak your mind, not interrupting, purely listening to how horrible your day went.

❥ and when it came to cheering you up he knew just how. he had methods, late walks, skin to skin, a movie, a warm filling meal. or simply the best jokes and the sweetest sarcasm that had your eyes rolling and cheeks balling in a smile.

❥ it was easy to see simon as some sort of monster, a fearful man born without an ounce of empathy. but when he meant you, that all seemed to crumble down, as he began to trust, when his heart began to pump wildly every time your name touched his ears, you were his forever.

472 notes · View notes

dinoandguitar · 2 months ago

Text

"In His Arms, Finally..."

New parents! KimMingyu x Afab!Reader

Genre: Pure fluff!

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, childbirth and nursing. The setting is in a hospital. Reader has just given birth.

Summary: Mingyu holds his newborn baby boy for the first time .

A/N : This is also based off a request after I posted the Wonwoo ver. Hope you enjoy it :) My requests are open, please feel free to ask away 🫶🏾 Also, writing this made me go AKSJSJSJSJSJJSJ HE'S SUCH A GENTLE GIANT 🥹😭🩷

Masterlist

Labour had stripped the world down to a blur of pain, breathing, and tears-but through it all, Mingyu had been there. He hadn’t left your side for even a second. Not when your nails dug into his arm. Not when you shouted at him to “stop breathing so loudly,” or when you clung to him, sobbing through each contraction. Not even when the fear flickered in his eyes the first time your heartbeat faltered on the monitor.

“Breathe, baby. You’ve got this. You’re so strong, okay?” he whispered again and again, forehead pressed to yours, voice trembling with more emotion than he let show.

You remembered how he cried when your baby boy finally arrived...Quietly, tears broke down his cheeks as he cut the cord with shaking hands and whispered, “Hi, Buddy… hi…” like he couldn’t believe any of it was real.

And now, just hours later, everything felt so still it was almost unreal. Like time had hit pause. You were tucked into the hospital bed, the room dim and quiet, with your baby boy curled into your chest as you tried to get him to latch for the first time. His tiny fists kneaded at your skin, his lips rooting instinctively. The new feeling was awkward, unfamiliar, beautiful and overwhelming all at once.

You winced slightly at the discomfort, your breath catching.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Mingyu shift. His hands flexed helplessly on his lap. His knees bounced a little. His brows were furrowed with concern, and his eyes… they didn’t leave the tiny human in your arms for a second.

“Mingyu,” you said softly, drawing his gaze up.

“Hmm?” he replied too quickly. His voice was soft.

“You okay?”

He nodded. Then shook his head. Then tried to smile. “I just… I don’t want to mess anything up.”

You tilted your head, confused. “You’re not even doing anything.”

“Exactly,” he breathed out, laughing nervously. “Because if I try, I’ll drop him. Or hold him wrong. Or… I don’t know. What if he cries because I smell weird? Or he doesn’t like me? Or what if I’m holding him and his neck-” He cut himself off, eyes wide. “He’s so small.”

You stared at him for a long moment, heart aching in the most tender way. You could see how badly he wanted to hold your son. It was in the way his hands hovered near the edge of the bed. In the way his eyes kept mapping every inch of that tiny, perfect face like he was trying to memorize it all.

“You won’t drop him,” you said gently.

“But-”

“You won’t.” You smiled. “Come here,” you said, shifting your baby slightly as he finished feeding. “Can you burp him?”

His eyes widened. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

He stood slowly. Almost too slowly. Like someone stepping into a dream they didn’t quite believe was real.

When you guided the baby into his arms, you felt Mingyu’s breath hitch. He held him like he was made of glass—careful and terrified.

“Oh,” he whispered. “You’re so small.” The baby nestled instinctively into his chest, and Mingyu instinctively began to sway. He patted his back gently, hesitant at first-until a soft little *burp* made his eyes go wide with wonder.

“He did it!” he whispered, voice breaking. “I did it.”

You reached over to rest your hand on his arm. “See, you’re already a great dad.”

He looked at you then, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You were incredible,” he said quietly. “I was scared out of my mind. Watching you earlier-you were in so much pain and still… you did it. And now you’re just holding him, feeding him, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re… amazing.”

You didn’t say anything. You just smiled, blinking back tears of your own.

Mingyu looked back down at your son, the tiniest smile curving his lips. “Hi, Buddy,” he whispered, brushing a finger along his cheek. “I’m your dad. Gosh... I still can’t believe I get to say that.”

He pressed a feather-light kiss to the top of your son’s head. “I promise I’ll get better at this. I’ll learn. I’ll protect you. I’ll love you more than anything.” He sat on the edge of your bed, still holding the baby, still swaying without realizing. You leaned your head against his shoulder, letting your eyes flutter closed.

In that tiny, perfect moment, you were three. A little family stitched together with love, awe, and the kind of quiet wonder that doesn’t need words.

A/N : Hope you all liked it.. My requests are open :)

#svt #seventeen #svt fluff #mingyu x reader #kim mingyu #mingyu fluff #mingyu #kim mingyu x reader #kim mingyu fluff #svt mingyu #svt kim mingyu #seventeen kim mingyu

319 notes · View notes

bunnysturniolo · 22 days ago

Text

- teach me dom!Matt

WARNINGS: softdom!matt, innocent!sub, daddy kink, no p in v oral (fem receiving)

Bunny bit her lower lip as she stood in the doorway of Matt’s apartment, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her oversized sweater. She looked up at him through long lashes, eyes wide with uncertainty and something softer—something expectant.

Matt leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching her. There was a calm, deliberate intensity in his gaze that always made her feel like he could see right through her. Like he knew what she needed before she did.

“You sure you want this?” he asked, voice low and firm.

Bunny nodded, then paused, unsure. “I think so I just— I’ve never done anything like this.”

He stepped forward slowly, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. When he reached her, he tilted her chin up with two fingers, making her meet his gaze.

“That’s okay, baby,” he murmured. “I like teaching.”

Her breath caught a shiver down her spine.

He traced his thumb along her jawline. “You just have to listen. Follow my voice. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded quickly, breath hitching, her cheeks flushing pink. “Yes, Daddy.”

His smirk was slow, satisfied. “Good girl.”

Matt’s hand slid from her jaw down the side of her neck, warm and grounding. Bunny’s breath trembled as she leaned into his touch, overwhelmed by how steady he was how sure. Her innocence wasn’t just about lack of experience it was about never having felt this wanted before.

“Take off your sweater,” Matt said, voice still soft, but edged with authority.

Bunny blinked. “Here?”

Matt raised an eyebrow, amused. “Yes. Right here. For me.”

Her fingers trembled as she grasped the hem of the oversized knit and tugged it over her head, revealing the soft lace bralette underneath. She felt exposed, but not unsafe. Vulnerable, but not weak. Not with him.

Matt’s gaze swept over her slowly, like he was savoring the sight. “You’re beautiful, Bunny.”

Her breath hitched. “Thank you, Daddy.”

That word still tasted strange on her tongue, but the way Matt reacted to it his jaw tensing, his eyes darkening made her want to say it again. Earn his praise. Please him.

He circled behind her, his hands brushing her bare arms. “You like being good for me, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I do.”

“Say it.”

“I like being good for you, Daddy.”

He let out a low, satisfied hum and leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Good girl.”

The praise made her knees wobble. She felt her body responding to him in ways she didn’t fully understand yet. But she wanted to learn. She trusted him to show her.

“Come with me,” he said, guiding her gently by the waist.

He led her to the bedroom a space that was minimalist but warm, the kind of space that made her feel safe. Matt sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her close, his hands on her hips.

“I’m going to teach you what it means to give up control, Bunny,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “Only when you’re ready. You’ll always have a choice.”

She swallowed, heart racing. “I want to learn. I trust you.”

His eyes softened, even as his grip on her waist tightened just enough to remind her who was in charge. “That’s all I need, sweetheart.”

He pulled her into his lap, cradling her thighs around his hips. She gasped as his hands slid up her back, slow and firm.

“No rushing,” he said. “Tonight’s lesson is about listening. Feeling. Letting go.” And when his lips met hers possessive, commanding, but never cruel she surrendered. Not because she was weak, but because with Matt, it felt powerful to be wanted like this. To be taught, cherished, guided. To be his.

Matt’s hands were warm as they slid under the curve of Bunny’s thighs, pulling her tighter into his lap. She gasped when his lips found the hollow of her throat, his breath hot against her skin. Every kiss felt like a claim every slow drag of his mouth down her neck marked her with unspoken promises.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured against her skin. “Is it fear… or excitement?”

Bunny swallowed. “Excitement.”

He smiled, brushing her hair back gently. “Good. Because I want you trembling but only from me.”

Her skin burned at his words, and when he leaned in again, the kiss this time was different. Deeper. Commanding. His tongue teased hers, slow and controlled, as if he was setting the rhythm and daring her to follow. Her hands gripped his shirt, anchoring herself to him as the world narrowed to just his mouth, his voice, his hands.

“Let me show you,” he whispered. “Let me show you how good it feels to give in.”

She nodded, but he didn’t move.

“Say it.”

“I want you to show me, Daddy.”

That smile again slow, approving, dangerous in the best way.

He laid her back on the bed with a tenderness that contradicted the heat in his eyes. Every movement was deliberate, reverent. He didn’t rush he didn’t need to. Bunny felt like he was worshipping her, dragging his hands over the fabric of her thighs, her hips, up to the delicate line of her bralette.

“You’re soft everywhere,” he murmured, tracing the lace. “Like you were made to be touched. Tasted.”

Her breath caught again. He kissed down her body, his mouth leaving a trail of heat over the lace, never quite where she craved. It was teasing. Torturous. Perfect.

Matt’s voice was velvet and command. “Keep your hands above your head. I didn’t say you could touch.”

She whimpered but obeyed, her fingers digging into the sheets as he continued his slow, devastating exploration. Every kiss, every brush of his hands made her more aware of how much power he had not just over her body, but over her thoughts, her breath, the way she needed him.

“You’re learning fast, Bunny,” he said, voice thick. “Such a good little thing… already aching for me.”

She couldn’t speak her body was already giving the answers. And Matt, reading her like a book, gave a soft chuckle full of dark promise.

“Lesson one,” he whispered, lips brushing just below her navel. “Obedience earns pleasure. Disobedience… well—” he nipped gently, making her gasp. “That’s another kind of lesson.”

She had a feeling she’d love both.

Her eyes were closed, face contorted in pleasure and moans were coming out of her plump lips. He smirked. Kissing her body in a downward direction, Matt placed his mouth around her clit and started sucking. Looking up, he saw her open her eyes wide in surprise but quickly closed them to enjoy what he was doing.

Matt took his time, licking, sucking and biting lightly at her clit. Bunny bucked her hips towards him, but he placed his hand on her to keep her still. he was loving it.

Lowering himself a little more, he licked her entrance, one of her hands coming to entangle itself in his hair and pulling him closer, while the other grabbed the sheets close to her hips. Matt conceded and started licking and sliding his tongue inside of her. Tasting her like this was enough to make Matt moan too.

Matt heard Bunny tell him she was close, so he picked up speed. He wanted to taste her, to drink her in completely. He felt her starting to clamp around his tongue and he knew this was it. She was coming. Darting his tongue in and out a few more times, he heard her scream his name once more, before she collapsed on the bed, her quick breathing the only sound in the room.

He stood up, wiping his mouth on the sheet, and leaned over her body so he could kiss her. She kissed him back and smiled. “Thankyou”

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo smut

239 notes · View notes

lowkeyerror · 7 months ago

Text

Guidance

Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Notes: Near death experience, pre-cannon, I think it’s mostly spoiler free be wary,

Summary: You are thought to be the weakest member of your coven. After hearing it so often you begin to believe it. It’s not until you encounter a mysterious woman in the woods, that you get a glimpse of you true power.

An: 2 parter & part 2 should be up in a matter of minutes 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️. Hope you like this one. I'm really just free writing these as they come up in my head

Part 2 | Masterlist

You were the weakest in your coven. The others were miles ahead of you when it came to actually using magic. However no one knew as much about it as you did.

You spent your time reading hoping to come across something that would wake your full potential but you found nothing.

Your coven bullied you relentlessly for your shortcomings. You heard their harsh words every time you failed a task. You heard it when you were left to clean up after them. You heard it when they would ditch you in the woods claiming it would build merit.

“This isn’t funny you guys, it’s dark please,” you call through the trees.

No one answers, not that you expect them to. You try to cast a light spell just enough to hold it in your hand, but you fail.

You start to hear noises in the woods surrounding you. Quickly you turn your back and take a defensive stance. You feel the hairs stand up against the back of your neck, and a light sweat begin to coat your forehead.

“I- I am armed,” you lie trying to reason with the darkness

When a figure steps out, you feel yourself start to shake. It was hard to see, but the hooded figure was illuminated by the soft light of the moon.

She was beautiful, something unnatural like you’ve never seen before. The warmth in her face, the faint rosy tones of her cheeks, the deep luxury of expensive leather in her eyes. She has stunned you into silence.

“You’re freezing,” is the only thing she says to you.

In your fear you hadn’t noticed the cold bite of the night. However as the stranger points it out you can feel a numbness start to take a place in your body.

“My coven… they like to play tricks on me like this,” you cast your gaze down, afraid to look into her eyes.

“That’s not very funny,” she speaks gently.

You raise your gaze to look at her, “It’s because I’m the weakest member. I can’t even cast a simple spell to light a path.”

The mystery woman shakes her head , “I don't think that’s true.”

She removes her cloak and drapes it over your shoulder.

“You’ll freeze miss,” you try to reason with her, but she just chuckles.

“Give me your hand,” she commands.

You hesitate but place your hand in hers. She lays your palm up flat.

“What are you do-”

“Think of something warm, like a blanket or a coat,” she guides you.

“Ok,” you mumble following her directions.

She praises you, “Very good, now move from warm to hot. Think of the blistering sun or an oven or… fire.”

When she says fire she can already see the ball growing in your hand. She looks over to see if you’re witnessing your power, but your eyes are closed.

“Now what? Hello?”

You open your eyes and the woman had vanished. Your eyes lock on the ball of fire illuminating from your hand. You had never been able to do something like this before.

With the stranger’s cloak around you and the ball of fire in your hand you were able to find your way back to the coven. You snuffed out the fireball before getting too close to the cabins.

“That’s a new record Y/n, we almost didn’t think you’d make it back,” one of the bullies snickers.

Instead of entertaining them with a stutter filled response like you usually do, you just walk past them. The woman from the woods still in your mind. You look at your hand that held the fire ball. Was she responsible for it, or could you do it on your own.

You do just like she instructed. Thinking of something warm and then hot. This time watching as your fingertips began to glow and fire danced in your palm.

Maybe you had been letting the words of the others get to you. Perhaps you had power just like theirs hidden somewhere underneath all of that doubt.

You decided that you would press the limits of your powers until your knowledge matched your ability. As soon as you began believing in yourself, the power seemed to surge through you.

You kept the woman’s cloak as you trained your powers. Often sneaking off in the night to teach yourself as your coven still believed you to be a weakling.

It’s a few months later, when your powers are much more refined that you grow tired of the teasing. You’re certain that you are more powerful than the other members of the coven.

“Hey Y/ln,” you turn at the sound of your last name.

A ball of mud thuds against your face and the sound of laughter rings in your ears. You try to calm yourself down as your anger begins to rise.

“Look she’s going to cry.”

“Chin up Y/n, you’re too old for tears.”

“I’m sure there’s a spell you can’t use that would be helpful right now.”

You felt hot all over. Like the rage was boiling your blood. Your fists were clenched together at your side. You felt the mud harden over your face before cracking off like it was a rock.

“Who threw it?” Your voice is low.

The laughter has stopped. They all look at you paralyzed with fear. You were on fire from your head to your toes. Pupils engulfed in flames.

“WHO THREW IT?” You repeat louder.

“We were just teasing Y/n, restrain yourself.”

You take a deep breath, and for a moment the flames die down.

“Freak,” someone mumbles.

That’s all it takes for you to shoot the fire out of your hand towards your coven members. Most of them moved out of the way.

The one’s who were too slow, did not have the time to scream. They were piles of ashes almost instantly. The others yell in their place, tears streaming down.

Their cries do something to pull you from your rage. You begin blinking rapidly. Your body feels empty on the inside, warmth was no longer there replaced by a bone chilling cold.

You pass out. When your coven sisters were aware that weren’t getting up again, they ran. They ran all the way to the mother of your coven to tell her what you did. They decided you would die for your actions.

When you gained consciousness you found yourself in a large glass. On the opposite side of the glass were your peers. You tried talking to them but none of them responded.

You weren’t truly panicking until the water started to flood into the sides of the glass. You began to bang on the glass, it did not relent. The water was ice cold as it started to climb up your legs.

“Please, please,” you beg them, tears streaming down your face.

“You never belonged in this coven, even with power, you are still a weakling,” the mother of the coven spat at you.

You felt your insides begin to burn again, but the cold water feels like it's putting out the fire. The water begins to rise. The higher it rises the more you fight against the execution.

Water begins to fill your lungs and you cough. It only makes more water enter your body. You begin to loose consciousness this time noting you won’t be waking again.

Your eyes flutter and before they close, you see a large flash of purple. You hear the glass tank you’re in begin to crack. You’re back is against the ground and your eyes are wide open.

“Is she breathing?”

“Do CPR.”

“Rio, I don't even know this gi-"

“DO THE CPR, AGATHA.”

Soon Agatha begins doing chest compressions on you. She hears a very feint heart beat. She moves to mouth to mouth. She tries to blow air into your lungs 2 or 3 times.

Eventually you start coughing, and she gains some distance.

“Are you alright bunny?”

You shake your head trying to clear the ringing.

“How did you?”

Your eyes begin to focus. You see the lifeless bodies of your coven members behind her. It makes you scramble back away from the woman.

“Hey, hey take it easy. They were trying to kill you, I did the right thing,” the woman tries to rationalize with you.

“What's your name?” You attempt to scramble to your feet.

“ Agatha Harkness. I’m not going to hurt you,” she stays in place eyes boring into yours.

Your eyes shift to the bodies once more, “How can I be sure?”

“She’s not going to hurt you, Y/n,” that voice was familiar to you.

You look behind you to see the woman you had come across in the forest. Seeing her in the daylight brings a brighter hue to your already flush cheeks. You begin to cough again.

“You- you put the fire in my hand,” you sputter.

She shakes her head, “That fire was inside of you, long before we crossed paths my sweet.”

“How did you find me?”

Agatha laughs, “Tell her how you found her Rio. Who you really are?”

Rio glares at Agatha, “Shut up, Agatha.”

“Who are you?” You whisper.

“I am Death,” she states.

You look at her waiting for her to say sike. To admit that this was some cruel joke, but she doesn't. Instead she just looks at you with her doe eyes.

“Let’s get you dry, bunny” Agatha says and with a flick of her hand, your clothes are dry.

“You wear my cloak.”

You pull it closer to your body, “ Keeps me warm.”

“I have been… drawn to you for some reason Y/n. You could've easily froze to death that night we met. You were so close, but then I interfered. It wasn’t your time yet. So I decided to offer you warmth.”

You stare up at her, “You must be mistaken. I am not… there’s nothing special about me. Especially nothing good enough to have Death save my life.”

“What did you do too have your whole coven turn against you?”

You stutter, “I- I got upset.”

Rio pushes you to further explain, “And what happened when you got upset?”

Your jaw twitches, “I started to feel hot on the inside.”

“And then what, bunny?”

You feel the fire roaring numbly inside of you, “I was covered it in fire. I shot it at them for teasing me. Some… some of them didn't move quick enough. ”

You begin to hyperventilate as the reality of your actions set in. You had killed people, their blood on your hands. Technically your entire coven was dead because of you.

“Deep breaths,” Agatha sits in front of you guiding you through the breaths. “Don’t feel ashamed for doing what you had to do for survival. It's not always about who is the strongest or even who is the smartest, it’s about who survives.”

“But for the record you were more powerful and smarter than all of them, “ Rio shares.

“I don't understand,” you look between the two women.

“Y/n, you are an elemental witch. It’s like a green witch on steroids,” Agatha explains.

You scoff, “Just because I made a fireball, anybody can do that.”

“You just said you were engulfed in flames,” Rio counters.

“Well that's just fire there are other elements,” you say, sure of your words.

Agatha nods, “Indeed there are, but you’ve only tried to play with fire. Give me your hand.”

Just like you had done months ago with Rio, you give Agatha your hand. She holds it face up with her own under yours.

“Now what?”

“Think of a flower. Any kind of flower. Be sure in the details. How long is the stem, does it have leaves on it? How big is the flower, is it multicolored?”

You follow Agatha’s instructions and easily enough a flower is sprouting out of your hand.

“How curious?” Rio glances at the flower you’ve made.

“What?” You ask gently pulling the flower from your palm.

“You made a Rio Dipladenia,” Agatha speaks breathless for a moment.

You furrow your brows, “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s not. That flower, I created it for Agatha, so it’s quite the coincidence that you would think to make it,” Rio informs you.

A blush spreads across your face, “Oh, would you… do you want the flower, Agatha?”

Agatha’s eyes snap to Rio before settling on you, “You’re adorable, doll.”

“I agree, too adorable to be wandering the forest alone and untrained. Come with us Y/n, we will help you reach your full potential,” Rio insists.

You look between the two for a moment, contemplating. You had nothing. Your coven was dead, your powers were unpredictable at best, and you couldn’t stand the thought of being alone.

You slowly nod, “Ok.”

“Good choice, bunny.”

#lowkeyerror #agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x rio vidal #rio vidal x reader #rio vidal #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader

675 notes · View notes

revelboo · 7 months ago

Note

Oml the cliffhanger on metroplex. Big guy needs more love in his life.

I absolutely love your work on these stories you got cooking here. Each and every one of them have so many characteristics to them. Can't wait for your next work. 🤗💖💖💖

Thank you!

18+ 🌶️

I Can Feel You Pt 6- extended cut

Metroplex x Reader

Monitoring as you step into the labyrinth that makes up his interior, for a moment you hesitate. Looking back up at the light streaming down from above like you want to go back. He knows he could close that exit to you, force you to continue on. Would you resent him then? If he takes away your choice? Little hands twisting together as you stare up toward that light, he knows he can't take that away from you. Needs you to choose him. And finally you take a shuddering breath and square your shoulders. "Okay," you whisper, eyes wide as you look around. "Okay. Show me, big guy."

Slowly he begins flaring his biolights, feeling the strain of redirecting energy where he needs it to give you direction. It's slow going when you're so small. Turning again and again, following the pulses of light. Trusting him to guide you and occasionally reaching out to brush your fingers against him almost absently. Those little touches helping focus him, because if he's wrong, if he's not careful, he'll burn through too much energy and be forced into recharge again. That unease twists through him as you follow, because he's not sure you'd be able to find your way back out. You're so little, so easy to overlook. How long would it be until the Autobots above miss you? Before you slowly starve to death wandering around inside him? That fear is a living thing, urging him to turn you back around. Let you go.

Just once, though. He wants to speak to you at least once. More than your stilted conversations as precious to him as they are. Wants to feel you reach out and be able to touch you in return. "I didn't realize all this was down here," you whisper, brushing against a cable. "It's like a whole other city." Except its only him here and now you.

You don't complain as he leads you, but as time passes, you are slowing. Shoulder and wrist bumping a wall as you turn a corner. Time is a hard concept for him, but it's different for you. You'd have taken a rest interval by now, right? He's not sure, but as you stumble guilt sets in. Knowing you're exhausted, but you're so close. Please, just a little further. "Metroplex? I think I'm done," you say, leaning your head against him. "Is it much further?"

Pulsing warm light, he waits, and you reluctantly push away from his walls to keep going. Knows you're tired and he's asking much more than he has a right to. But just this once, he wants to wrap his arms around your little frame. Needs you to understand how precious you are to him.

Exhaustion pulls at you as you scrub a hand over your eyes, your head pounding. It feels like you've been walking forever, trusting that there's a reason you're down here. It must be night by now or early morning. There's no way to know down here in his labyrinthine interior. He's seen you eat and must know you'll need to soon. Should already have. You keep your eyes on those warm, comforting lights of his, not on the empty shadows beyond. If not for the low hum of his spark vibrating under your feet, you'd think you were alone. Abandoned. Know you're inside him and there's nothing to fear, but panic is just there under the surface. Screaming at you to turn and run back the way you'd come. That this is a tomb, maybe yours.

And then light, warm and beckoning. Leaving the tunnel you were in to enter an open space limned in warm light along the walls, pulsing slowly as they run upward with a low thrumming you feel in your bones. Breath catching as you tip your head up to find his spark. It's a shocking thing to see, knowing it’s everything. It’s him.His life force pulsing and glowing above you, little arcs of energy trailing through the air around it.

"Metroplex? This is your spark, right?" The part of a Cybertronian they protect and keep hidden, and he's shared his with you. It feels like trespassing on something private as your eyes drop. Like this isn't something meant for you to see.

Directly under it is something almost like a closed metal flower, pulsing with that same energy. And along the ground, his biolights pulse. Slow, deliberate flares that draw you forward. As you approach, that strange structure opens, metal petals unfurling slowly as thick cables unravel from around it. "You wanted me to see this?" You ask, because of course he had. That thing that's not at all a flower is pulsing slowly like his spark, that light almost hypnotic. One of those cables brushes your ankle and twines about it as you approach and reach out. Fingers brushing him and feeling energy arc through you, shattering you.

That contact jolts through you as everything falls away and you’re left in a space limned in the warm pulse of his spark, surrounded by him. You can feel him in a way you never have before as you try to figure out if the space you’re in is small or infinite. And if touching whatever that was just killed you, because it’s so hard to focus here. You feel like you’re drifting and just want to sleep.

So hard to focus. That’s not your thought, is it? It feels like yours, but there’s a faint dissonance. Ground me, little one.

“Metroplex?” You whisper, reaching out and a figure materializes in front of you, bigger than you but not as massive as the Autobots are. Ghostly and insubstantial until his servos touch your fingertips and he solidifies some. You’ve never seen his bot form, but you know this is him. Metroplex. Warmth spilling through you as he offers you a big hand and you lay your palm in his.

“Touch me,” he says, the words a deep rumble, a plea as his servos curl around your hand.

Because he becomes more real where you touch him. Encouraging you to reach for him, hand lifting to cautiously cup his jaw. And his other arm curls around you and draws you near, feeling solid against you. The warmth of him, the thrum of his spark against you all so real. “Hi,” you whisper against him.

“You saw me,” he says, chin on top of your head, that deep voice so grateful it hurts you. Like acknowledging him, speaking to him is unthinkable. “Woke me.”

It breaks you wide open, that wonder in his voice over something so simple. Thinking about how he takes care of you, watches over you, has tried so hard to reach out. “I’m here. I’ve got you,” you whisper, reaching for him, cupping his helm in your hands and pulling him down. Because you understand that loneliness, of being unseen. Knowing you’re so much smaller than even the smallest Autobot, that you’re easy to overlook. To forget. And among them you feel alone, alien and unseen. His mouth is warm when you go up on tiptoes to kiss him. And he rushes into you, tangling what you feel with what he feels.

Knowing that he won’t be able to maintain this for long, but he’d wanted to tell you how much he appreciates you speaking to him so he doesn’t drift away from reality completely. All those little touches, the sound of your voice and your stories, you’ve held him together. Giving him something to focus on. A sense of self after so long.

You can’t separate yourself from him as his mouth slides against yours. Can’t tell if the need and heat are yours or his. But knowing that you see him and that you want to wrap yourself around him, protect him against that fear of being forgotten. Of losing what little of himself is left. Dying alone and forgotten.

Not sure how much of this is real, it feels like it is as he drags you against him. The kiss becoming something desperate, needing to show him he’s still alive. To feel him hold you, touch you. Big servos on your hips, lifting you as you wrap yourself around him. You feel the head of his spike slide against you. Sex and need and fear of being forgotten, left behind, all jangling through you. His thoughts, your thoughts. There’s no separating them as he pulls you down, the hard length of his spike sliding deep to stretch you.

Those big hands on your hips, moving you against him as your mouth brushes the corner of his mouth, hearing him venting raggedly against you. “I see you,” you moan, clinging to him.

“I feel you,” he whispers, against you. “I have you.”

You know it’s true as he keeps moving against you, his spike stroking deep again and again. You’re safe and sheltered here in his arms. He’s been watching over you all along, reaching out but unable to say a word. When he pushes you over that edge and you fist his spike, your climax is a gentle warmth spreading through you. Feeling him rock himself against you, groaning with his own release, helm resting against your forehead as those optics seem to devour you. Because he does see you, he’s seen you all along.

#transformers x reader #idw metroplex #metroplex x reader

412 notes · View notes

koipudding · 29 days ago

Text

period sex with kaiser!! cannibal kaiser who is NOT ashamed of eating you out--in fact its like a treat--he doesn't care about the state of the blood he's consuming, if it was toxic he'd have rushed you to the hospital after all...

ao3 version here! (same thing, diff platform.

wc: 0.9K

cw: eating out, period sex, cannibalism, dubious consent (reader gets brain fog with their period), no use of pronouns, unedited and not proofread, gender neutral reader (has a cunt/period), muscle aches... experimentation on cannibals (loosely referenced).

inspired by Alice's (cheralith!!) cannibal au. but kaiser does not die in this timeline :x

he's more insistent than usual today. you know he tracks your periods, which is fine--any good roommate would look out for a friend like that! It makes stocking the pantry easier, plus there's the bonus of knowing when to say or do certain things.

But with the medicine you’ve put him on, he should’t be desperate for blood. The medicine, the vials and fresh meat you’ve laid out for him are usually enough. Science says they’re enough (sentiment says otherwise), but the existence of cannibals in society is rather new. Hence, it’s time to rely on scientific inquiry.

Except you can hardly get out of bed.

Your thighs and back ache despite lack of exertion, and you can feel your pad sticking to your thigh.

“Ow…” sitting up is hard, but a firm hand guides you up.

“The hell? Don’t sit up too fast.” Kaiser is next to you.

Your eyes adjust to the light—it’s probably noon already— “wha…”

His eyes aren’t the same shade of blue, no. they’re grey, flickering between red and grey as his breaths remain shallow.

“Hey… Mihya, are you—“

“I can smell it.” He cuts you off before you finish, “Your period, I mean.”

Before he can come off as too insensitive (when has he ever cared about that?), he whispers: “Do I… need to draw you a bath?”

Before, the absurdity of a known cannibal asking to care for you instead of consuming you would have made you laugh (or cry from fear), but all you can do is soften and agree.

“I just need a wet wipe.” You acquiesce. It’s rare for the blond to initiate his brand of care for you, any step he makes is worthy of accepting.

He comes back, and wipes down every place you needed attention at. Under your arms, your neck and behind your ears. He reaches your ankles and goes up...

The movement of the wipe stops at the junction of your thighs.

Maybe it was a mistake to wear short shorts to bed—the kind that exposes your underwear with a single stretch or movement of the leg.

Your… roommate. Your roommate pulls your panties aside, his breath hitched and eyes blown wide.

Something goes through his head, and the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. He’s a cannibal. During a menstrual cycle, you shed internal lining, and blood. Just the type of thing a cannibal loves.

“Wait, don’t—“

“Please.” He thumbs a bit higher, not close enough to be touching your slit, but teasing the edge of it.

Kaiser rarely ever begs, but the hunger in his eyes is all consuming. You’ve never seen him react this way because of you.

Fog fills your brain. This is what you hated the most—the brain fog, muscle aches—maybe this will take your mind off it all…

A second’s hesitation is all that it takes for Kaiser to pull your shorts away. He shoves a folded towel under your hips (in retrospect, it shouldn’t have shocked you how well he’s planned for this. When emotions aren’t high, Michael is methodical, conscious towards the point of manipulation. Of course he knew he’d do this and most importantly, that you’d accept it.)

He licks a tongue up your thigh, where some caked blood rests. His tongue flicks out to catch some blood at the edge of his lips.

Shame takes place of arousal in your gut. Letting a cannibal into your home? Fine. Taking care of them and studying them? Fine. But letting them treat you like you’re a meal? It’s depraved. You should despise it. Instead, you find yourself inching closer to him.

“P-please. Don’t stop,” your hands shake as he gets closer, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Don’t be sorry, Schatz. Just stay put and behave.” He croons at you, and you can only whine in response.

Kaiser goes back down to play with your clit, not minding his fingers getting stained and sticky from your arousal and blood. The fluids mix together, the sound growing more lewd as he gets more enthusiastic.

“Mi—Mihya—“ its hard not to lose control of speech, the mixture of shame and arousal makes it hard to even think about what to say to him.

You melt under his administrations; combined with the twisting in your gut, you cry out and beg for him.

Calloused hands pat your sides, stroking your hips as he licks up your slit.

The room grows warmer as he tugs and pinches on your clit, and you spasm as he grabs your hips. A choked cry of “mihya” leaves your lips.

Overstimulation hits you like a truck before Kaiser slips a finger into your cunt. You’re full of slick and blood, making it easy for him to reach your sweet spot.

His tongue and knuckles tease your entrance before the coil in your gut snaps.

“F-fuck… mihya—-“ you let out a broken cry as you cum, blood and arousal coating his face. Almost like he got out of a fight…

“M sorry, m s-sorry mihya, you got all dirty.” Your hands reach to cup his face, your chest shaking from exertion and shame.

“You were delicious, sweetheart. Nothing to be sorry about.” Kaiser grins, pulling his finger out of your cunt and licking it like he’s had the best meal on earth.

“Gimme another round. I think I found something better than those blood vials you’ve been giving me…”

#tw cannibalism #cw cannibalism #cw periods #cw period sex #tw periods #blue lock smut #bllk smut #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #koi writes #this concept has been floating around for... checks posts....since April? abt a month already!#sitting in my notes app omfg.#tw dubcon #tw dubious consent #cw blood #mihyakoi

157 notes · View notes

mrsmangi · 3 months ago

Text

maroon - luigi mangione

♡ summary: after months apart, luigi shows up at your door seeking refuge. your love for him lingers, remnants of the past, but so does the ache of his absence. ♡ w.c.: 5.7k ♡ a/n: it's been a long time coming. ever since i saw this post by @cherrysolo in january, i knew i had to do something about it. i've been working on this piece for months. hope you guys enjoy + thank you to mads for inspiring me to do this.

—

The knock on your door comes near midnight, sharp and panicked. Three raps, demanding and urgent. You freeze, heartbeat racing as you glance at the clock on the wall. 11:53.

The bitter, freezing cold has been raging on for hours outside. It seeps through the walls, making you curse at the broken thermostat in your apartment. You’re wrapped in a blanket on the couch, trying to focus on the novel in your hands when it happens. Another set of knocks follow after a moment of silence, louder, and your stomach twists with unease.

“(Name), it’s me.”

That voice. You stare at the door, breath catching in your throat. You get up, shivering as your bare feet hit the cold floor. When you open the door, the sight of him steals the air from your lungs.

“Luigi?”

He stands there, shoulders hunched against the biting cold, a green hooded jacket hanging open over his disheveled clothes. His face is pale, his dark brown eyes hollow with something you can’t distinguish–fear? Alarm? Exhaustion?

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he says quietly.

“What’s going on?” you ask, voice sharper than intended, eyebrows furrowing. He flinches. “You look like sh–”

“(Name),” he begins, but his voice dies in his throat as your eyes meet. He swallows thickly, licking his chapped lips and letting out a deep exhale. “I’m sorry, can I just–” He sighs once more, leaning his hand against the doorway for support. “Can I come in? Please.”

You stare at him for a long moment, hesitation bubbling in your stomach. He stares back, and your frown falters. There’s something about the way he begs you that makes your hesitation crack. Just the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to make you step aside.

“Come in.”

When he shuffles his way inside your apartment, you shut the door behind Luigi. It closes with a soft click. He shrugs off his coat, his movements stiff. You take silent notice of the way his hands tremble slightly, but say nothing as you guide him to the couch. His body sinks into it heavily.

You stand behind your kitchen counter, as if to shield yourself from coming too close to him. You haven’t seen this man in months, then he decides to show up at your doorstep in the middle of the night. He looks so different, yet still the same.

His flushed cheeks look sunken, dark curly brown locks unkempt and outgrown, and every movement he’s making is jerky and erratic. You reach for the bottle of red wine you had opened earlier, watching him closely as you pour yourself a fresh glass. He remains still, aside from the shaking of his body from the cold.

“What are you doing here, Luigi?”

He doesn’t look up immediately, sighing slowly, sounding strained. When he does meet your eyes, he looks ashamed, or maybe that’s regret. Either way, something uncomfortable stirs within you.

“I needed somewhere to go,” he says.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I know,” he says, gaze dropping to the floor. His hands fall to his lap and he rubs his palms together. “I just…I didn’t know where else to go.”

“How about home? To your mother who’s been worried sick about you?” you snap at him, words sharp. “You left, Luigi. Months ago. Without a word. No one knew where you were. Your mom called me, your dad, your roommate, your friends. We thought you were dead, and now you’re back, in the middle of the night, looking like you’ve just seen a fucking ghost. You have to give me something more than just that.”

He flinches, lips pressing together. You almost think he might not answer you, but then he sighs again, shoulders slumping further.

“I’ll explain,” he says quietly. “But not yet. Not tonight, (Name).”

Your anger flares within you again, but it’s dampened by the exhaustion written all over his face. He looks so fragile, so lost. You set the glass down and cross your arms instead of demanding more information.

“You don’t just get to show up and ask me to pretend like everything’s fine,” you say, tone softer but no less firm.

“I know,” he mutters, head dropping into his hands again. “I’m sorry.”

You pick up the glass again, your fingers brushing against the cold surface before you take a long, slow sip. He’s here. For better or worse, Luigi is, at last, someplace akin to home, and you can’t ignore the part of you that’s relieved, even in all your annoyance.

“What do you want, Luigi?” you ask. It’s the million dollar question–the one that’s been hanging over your head ever since you let him walk through your door. It hangs in the air, heavy and oppressive, filling every inch of space between you. You grip your wineglass so tightly you almost think it might break, the stem cool and firm against your fingers. It grounds you now when everything feels so precarious.

He doesn’t answer right away. He looks worn to the bone. You hate the part of you that wants nothing more than to cross the room and touch him, smooth down the unruly curls that fall into his face, press your hands to his cheeks just to see if he’s real. It’s all you’ve dreamed of for months since he left, but you don’t move. You stay rooted behind the kitchen counter, observing him.

Eventually, Luigi leans back against the couch, shoulders sagging. His gaze drops to his fidgeting hands, as if he’s trying to work out what to say. When he finally lifts his head, the air in the room shifts. It feels like you’re staring at a stranger, but the only indication that this is your beloved–from all those months ago–are his eyes. Dark, glassy, and haunting, like he’s been hollowed out from the inside. Shame clings to him, evident in the way his gaze flickers to yours and back. Exhaustion is settled in the creases of his brown, etched into his face, giving his already pale complexion a ghostly hue. His mouth opens slightly, as if he’s about to speak, but he says nothing. He presses his lips together again. Looking down, he continues to fidget, fingers curling against the fabric of his jeans. Eventually, he exhales and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

“I just need to be here with you.”

Your first instinct is to scoff, but you hold your tongue. The urge to demand more, to yell at him for how little those words give you after everything you’ve been through is overbearing. But something in the way he speaks, in the crack of his voice like he’s unraveling with every syllable spoken, stops you.

He doesn’t look away, either. His eyes hold yours, unflinching and sincere, and it makes you hold your breath. There’s no pleading in his stare, no attempt to coerce or manipulate. He’s stripped himself bare and it unsettles you in his vulnerability. He isn’t asking for forgiveness–he isn’t even asking for understanding. He’s just telling the truth, as insufficient and messy as it is.

Your anger still bubbles at the edges, but beneath it lays an ache you refuse to name. The part of you that was hurt by his disappearance, the part that spent sleepless nights wondering why he left and if it was your fault, wants to lash out. But it’s overtaken by the part of you that aches for him.

“You can’t just say something like that and expect me to be okay with it,” you say, voice quiet. You know you sound like a broken record, repeating itself over and over again, but you continue anyway. “You can’t just show up, months later, and tell me you need to be here. It’s not enough, Luigi.”

“I know it's not enough,” he murmurs, “but it’s all I have right now.”

His admission takes the fight out of you, leaving you feeling unmoored. You stare at him, chest tightening at the sigh of him so utterly broken. Luigi has always been the one who seemed untouchable in your group of friends. The one who always held himself together, even when things were falling apart. But this man–the one sitting on your couch, trembling as he struggles to hold himself upright–feels like a stranger and someone you’ve always known simultaneously.

You sigh, a sound heavy with resignation, and reach for a second glass. The wine bottle feels cold in your hands as you pour, rich red liquid swirling in the light. You hesitate when your fingers brush the stem of the glass, debating whether or not to even hand it to him. But when you look back at him, your resolve cracks.

Wordlessly, you walk over and set the glass on the coffee table in front of him, careful not to let your hand linger too close to his. “Here,” you say softly, voice losing its edge. “Just for tonight.”

He looks at the glass like it’s a foreign object, fingers twitching before he reaches for it. His grip is cautious, careful, like it might shatter in his hands. “Thank you,” he says. You have to force yourself to look away from him. You retreat to the far end of the couch, keeping the space between you intact, and pick up your own glass. You take a large gulp, the rich red wine burning slightly as it slides down your throat. Your gaze flickers to him from the corner of your eye.

He doesn’t drink right away. Luigi only stares into the glass, his thumb tracing its rim absentmindedly. He keeps his expression tight, jaw clenched like he’s holding something back.

“What happened to you, Lu?” you ask finally, the nickname slips out without you even realizing it. It feels strange in the space between you–something familiar weighted with everything that’s changed. You’ve grown so much through your grief over Luigi the past few months.

The fact that you’ve used the affectionate nickname doesn’t go unnoticed. His grip tightens on the glass, knuckles whitening. His shoulders flinch, a small crack in the wall he’s been holding up since he got here. He still refuses to look at you.

“Not tonight,” he says after a long pause, voice strained. “Please, (Name). Not tonight.”

You want to argue. You want to push him, to demand answers, but the fragility of his figure keeps you quiet. You exhale slowly, taking another large sip of your wine before setting it down with a soft clink. It feels louder than it should in the quiet of your living room.

“Fine,” you say with resignation, but with a lingering edge. “But just to be clear, this doesn’t mean we’re fine.”

He nods, movement small and tired. “I wouldn’t expect it to,” he murmurs. He lifts the glass to his lips, taking a hesitant sip, and for the first time tonight, you see the faintest hint of relief on his face.

Without another word, you push yourself up from the couch. Luigi doesn’t react, doesn’t even look at you as you make your way into the kitchen. The bottle of wine is right where you left it, nearly half-empty on the counter. You grab it by the neck and return to the living room, placing it on the table with a resolute thud.

Luigi looks up at it for a moment, then back up at you, brow faintly creased in question.

“There’s no way I’m doing this shit sober,” you mutter, half to yourself. You keep your voice low, but the edge of humor doesn’t quite hide your weariness.

Luigi’s lips twitch–just barely–into something that almost resembles a smile. It’s the most human he’s looked since walking through your door, but it fades just as quickly as it appears. He looks back down at his glass, silent once again.

You sink back into your spot on the couch, pulling your legs up underneath you. The tension in the room remains thick, but for now, you have wine and Luigi is here. It’s not much, but it’ll have to do.

–

Your parents always said stubbornness was not your strong suit. You used to roll your eyes at that, sure that they were wrong, brushing it off as another one of their critiques disguised as wisdom. But lying here now, with your feet comfortably resting in Luigi’s lap, you’re beginning to see how right they were.

You can’t recall the exact moment when your resolve–once so firm–crumbled. Not long ago, you sat stiffly, an arm slung around yourself, forcing yourself to keep a cautious distance. Yet, with each passing sip, Luigi grew more comfortable. Chatty. He began talking more and more, until you found that you couldn’t help but reply.

The thought of letting him this close seemed impossible, but here you are: sinking into the couch while his hand lingers absently on your ankle, his laugh filling the room like it belongs here. Like he belongs here.

He’s talking about something–voice warm and animated, punctuated by the wide gestures that shake your legs with each movement–but you aren’t really listening. It’s not that you don’t want to, you do; it’s just hard. Hard to focus when your mind keeps circling back to how dangerous this is.

The alcohol hums softly in your head, a light buzz that blurs the edges of your thoughts just enough to make everything feel softer, warmer. It’s not unpleasant–if anything, it’s making it easier to let go, to let yourself sink into the ease of this moment. Maybe that’s why Luigi seems different tonight, or maybe it’s not the wine at all. Maybe it’s just him—the real him, more like the person you used to know. Your Luigi.

“...and then I smashed it right against my head. I swear, the entire party lost their minds,” he says, voice breaking through your haze.

You blink, drawn back to the present. “Wait. You smashed what against your head?”

“A beer can,” he says smugly, leaning back into the couch as if he’s just declared himself king of the world.

A laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it, but you clamp a hand over your mouth anyway. “No way. You didn’t.”

“I did,” he insists, grin widening. “Cracked it open and chugged it right after. Total alpha move.”

You shake your head, rolling your eyes, but your lips twitch against your will. “You were such an attention seeker at Penn. I swear, it’s all making sense now.”

“Oh, don’t even start,” he counters, pointing at you. “You’re not exactly innocent, miss ‘let’s bar-hop and turn every table into a dance floor.’”

Your jaw drops. “That’s not fair! I wasn’t that bad.”

“Not that bad?” he echoes, feigning shock. “You climbed on top of a table at Bonner’s, in heels, and danced until I had to physically get you down. And what happened? You fell. We both ended up on the floor. Don’t act like you forgot.”

You’re laughing again, and tears prick the corner of your eyes. “Oh, my God. I did forget. How did we even end up on the floor?”

He pauses, brow furrowing in mock thought. Then, he grins. “Cheap-ass vodka, that’s how.”

You chuckle and shake your head, leaning back into the cushions. When you glance back at Luigi, he’s already looking at you, eyes soft and crinkled at the corners, his grin lingering.

“God,” you say, still smiling. “That was such a mess. I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Of course I do,” he says, tone lighter now, almost fond. “You were so drunk you tried to argue with me about how unfair gravity was while we were on the floor.”

Your laughter bubbles up again, shaking your shoulders as you bury your face in your hands. “I didn’t.”

“You did,” he says firmly, leaning forward and shifting to make himself more comfortable. “And then you said, ‘You know what? If you were a gentleman, you’d carry me home.’”

You lower your hands just enough to peek at him, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Did you?”

He sighs, shrugging. “What can I say? I’m a gentleman.”

Your smile grows into a grin. You swat at his leg with your foot, but he doesn’t move it, tracing his thumb over your ankle tenderly.

Somewhere in the background, the music shifts, something slower and softer spilling from the speakers, and it takes you a moment to even remember where it’s coming from. Glancing up, you spot the vinyl record spinning on the turntable you had dusted off earlier in the evening. Its needle hums along grooves you’d forgotten existed. You’d put it on after your second glass of wine. The faint, sweet scent of incense drifts through the room, wrapping itself around you. You must have lit it too, though the memory of doing so feels hazy, distant. Its smoke curls lazily in the soft light of the living room. Everything about this moment makes it feels like it exists outside of time.

Luigi glances at you then, his grin fading into something more gentle. His gaze flickers briefly to the record player before coming back to you, eyes warmer than they have any right to be. And then, without a word, he stands. He doesn’t look away from you as he holds out a hand, palm up, inviting and patient.

“Dance with me,” he says.

Your heart stutters, eyes flickering between his face and his hand. For a moment, you hesitate, the weight of everything pressing against your chest. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. You said it best yourself, Luigi has no right to behave this way after leaving for what feels like so, so long. He left his entire life behind. Left you.

The soft crackle of the vinyl and the faint scent of incense, giving you the courage to take it.

You reach out just enough for your fingers to hover above his, the space between them barely there. The hesitation is instinctive, a reflex that comes without a second thought. You brush against the palm of his hand lightly. He doesn’t move, doesn’t press, but you see the subtle way his fingers shift, like he’s waiting for you.

The moment stretches. You should pull away.

Instead, you take a deep breath and slide your hand into his. He pulls you to your feet gently. The coolness of the hardwood floor stirs you in your drunken haze as he guides you into a slow sway. His hand settles at your waist and the air feels fuller, heavier, though not stifling.

He holds his glass of red wine in his other hand and you do the same. The music swells faintly, slow, and you sway together. The alcohol hums through your veins, loosening the tension in your shoulders as you dance with Luigi. You move in sync with small, subtle steps, his breath slows, matching yours without intention. Then, he moves closer, carefully, cheek brushing against yours. His face rests lightly against yours and you feel the faintest warmth of his skin, the barely-there graze of his stubble as he turns his head slightly, angling into the contact.

Your breath catches and your eyes flutter closed. You allow your head to tilt just enough for your cheek to press more fully against his. The scent of him–faintly woodsy, clean, with a trace of citrus–fills the miniscule space between your bodies, stirring a flood of memories you hadn’t let yourself think of in months. You grip your glass of wine a little tighter.

His glass remains in his other hand, rim brushing lightly against your shoulder as you sway. The subtle clink of glass against glass as your movements bring you closer feels intimate. His thumb brushes over your waist gently, absentmindedly. The warmth of him spreads through you, his cheek flush against yours, his breath soft and even, grazing your temple with each inhale. It’s so wrong, but it feels so right. Everything is as it should be.

Luigi is home. He’s with you.

“Careful,” he murmurs softly, almost teasing, as your glass tips slightly with the sway of your steps. His voice is so close it sends tremors through you, and you can’t help but chuckle quietly. The sound catches somewhere between amusement and relief.

“Don’t let me spill,” you whisper, lips barely moving.

“I’ve got you,” he says, voice low. Something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten. Maybe it is the wine, or the warmth of his figure pressed to yours, or how his voice settles over you like a quiet vow–but for the first time, in a long time, you let yourself believe.

You’ve never realized how much you’ve missed feeling safe, how long you’ve felt like you’ve been carrying the weight of everything on your own. The sense of safety doesn’t come from having walls over your head or keeping people at arm’s length to protect yourself. It’s a different kind of security–one that is unspoken and simply just there. It’s present, it’s solid. Tangible.

Luigi says nothing else, doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty reassurances or excuses. He just keeps dancing with you, movements slow and sure, grip never faltering.

You’re not sure how long you stay that way, pressed together in the soft glow of the living room, swaying in rhythm in the music. You allow for your cheek to nestle against his, his warmth seeping into your skin. You wonder if you’ve even realized how much you needed this.

It happens then: your bare foot slips slightly against his, and you stumble. His hand catches yours, but not before his wine tips, splashing into your shirt. It stains your shirt in a sharp contrast against the white fabric, soaking through in an instant.

“Fuck–” you curse, flinching away from him as if you’ve just been burned. The wine is cold against your skin, seeping into the fabric, making it cling to your skin uncomfortably. Your hands instinctively grasp at the ruined shirt, pulling it slightly away from your body. You feel exposed.

“Oh, shit,” Luigi mutters, voice tight with guilt and eyes wide. His gaze flick down to the stain, then back up to you. He moves to set his glass down with a dull clink against the coffee table, hands reaching for you instinctively. “I’m sorry. Here, let me–”

His fingers ghost over the fabric of your ruined shirt, but you flinch away before he can do anything, stepping back, blood rushing to your cheeks. Something in you snaps and the spell is broken.

Everything–the heat of his hands, how you let yourself fall into him, the reckless abandon of letting him touch you again, letting yourself want him again–it all evaporates, as if the wine itself is an alarm jolting you back to reality.

What the fuck were you doing?

Your pulse pounds against your skull as the moment rewinds in your head, over and over–his voice in your ear, his hands on your waist, you nestling into him like he had never gone anywhere. Like he didn’t abandon you.

You stumble back, shaking your head, feeling the cold seep in deeper. “I need to clean up.” Your words come out quick, breathless, barely controlled.

Luigi blinks, brows knitting together. “Hey–”

You don’t wait for him to finish. You turn away, moving fast, not stopping until you’re down the hall, until your hands find the bathroom door and push it open. The moment you’re inside, you shut it behind you. Not slamming it or locking it–but closing it with a finality that should be obvious: Don’t follow me.

Your breath comes in short, uneven bursts.

You tear off your shirt and toss it onto the sink. It hits the counter with a dull thwap, the fabric crumpling in a dark, wine-soaked mess. The air in the bathroom is colder than the rest of the house, the chill biting against your bare skin. Standing in your bra, you grab a towel, dampening it under the faucet, and begin to blot the stain. You squeeze your eyes shut. Your heartbeat feels erratic and there’s a ringing that sounds too loud in your ears. The heat of the water running over your fingers makes you wince, but you focus on the task.

The wine seeped deep into the fibers of your white shirt, blooming like bloodstains. You sigh, shaking your head as you rub harder, feeling your frustration rise. The stubborn stain refuses to fade.

Your reflection catches your attention and your hand stills against the t-shirt. There’s a faint flush on your cheeks. You have a feeling it’s not from the alcohol or the cold–that it’s from something more, but you brush it off, scrubbing at your shirt harder than before.

You try to focus on getting the stain out, but your thoughts keep betraying you, drifting back to the feeling of Luigi’s hands in yours just minutes earlier. You sigh, shaking your head.

This is such bullshit.

The knock at the door makes you jump.

“(Name)?” Luigi’s voice crawls from beneath the crack of your door, pouring into the bathroom.

You swallow, turning off the sink. “I’m fine.”

A beat of silence passes. Then, a soft click and the door opens.

You whip around, heart leaping in your throat. Luigi stands in the doorway. The air in the bathroom suddenly feels tense. The warm fluorescent light buzzes faintly from the bulb above your bathroom mirror. Harsh shadows accentuate the sharp angles of Luigi’s cheekbones and the hollows beneath his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, dark and unreadable, nearly eclipsing the warm brown of his irises. His gaze flickers, hesitant, from your face to the curve of your collarbone, then lower, lingering on the wine-stained skin just above the edge of your bra.

His shirt is wrinkled and hangs off him loosely. His hands are in his pockets, silhouette cutting out an imposing figure against the soft lights of the living room behind him.

“Luigi,” you say, intending for his name to leave your lips firmly, but it’s anything but. “What are you doing?” Your voice is soft under the weight of his stare. You cross your arms instinctively, but it does little to hide your bare, exposed skin.

He steps inside, slowly, like he’s giving you the chance to stop him, to push him away. You don’t. He nears, his presence consuming the small space between you.

“Helping,” he says simply, his lips quirk into a faint, humorless smile. His eyes drop again, and the way they trail over you–tauntingly, deliberately–makes your breath hitch. “Isn’t it obvious?”

You ignore the warmth blossoming between your legs, pressing your back against the sink to create distance between you. Towel still in your hand, you clutch the porcelain behind you.

“You’re drunk,” you murmur, but the words come out weak, like a half-hearted protest that not even you, yourself, believe.

“Maybe,” he mutters, taking another step closer. His smile fades, replaced by something darker, eyes falling to linger on your collarbone once more.“You’re beautiful, (Name).”

“Luigi–”

Danger, you hear something that sounds like your voice whisper in your head.

“Let me help,” he says gently, hand reaching out. His long, slender fingers brush yours, warm and rough, as he takes the towel from your slackened grip. He never looks at the towel, though. His focus remains entirely on you. His touch is hesitant, careful, as he dabs at your wine-stained skin. It doesn’t do much, but his hands linger, thumb brushing against the curve of shoulder.

Danger.

“This isn’t helping,” you finally breathe, voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Danger.

“No,” he agrees, his voice dropping lower, rougher. His eyes flicker up to meet yours. Your knees feel weak. The towel slips from his hand, forgotten, as his hands slide to your waist, fingers curling against your bare skin. “It’s not.”

Da–

And then his lips are on yours, cutting off your final thought.

It’s not gentle. It’s desperate–a collision that leaves you gasping. He pulls you against him with an urgency that sends a shock through your entire body. His large hands grip your waist tightly as though he’s afraid you might slip away. The feeling of his chest pressed against yours sends a jolt of warmth through you.

Your hands move instinctively, one threading into his dark curls, the other tugging at the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. He groans against your mouth, the sound low and guttural, vibrating against your lips. He understands your silent demand, leaning back to lift his shirt over his head and toss it aside. His toned figure is revealed to you, but you barely have time to process it as he captures your lips in his again.

The kiss deepens, growing hungrier and messier, as though the months of silence, pain, longing, are all spilling out. His teeth graze your lower lip, tugging gently before his tongue slides against yours, hot and insistent.

Then, without warning, his hands shift to your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifts you onto the sink.

You gasp into his mouth, hands clutching his shoulders as he steps between your legs, pressing himself closer. The cool surface of the mirror against your back is a harsh comparison to the heat of his hands, his body, his mouth. His lips leave yours for only a moment, trailing down the line of your jaw to the sensitive spot beneath it, on your neck. His breath is hot and ragged, and you tilt your head, giving him more access as his lips continue to move lower.

“Luigi,” you breathe, voice trembling once his mouth reaches your collarbone. The wine he had feebly dabbed at earlier still remains. He pauses there, breath ghosting over your skin, warm. Then, he presses his lips to the curve of your shoulder, slowly, before he presses his tongue flat against your flesh, licking upward in one long stripe to the curve of your shoulder. You moan, hands falling to wrap around his back, nails digging into his skin.

His tongue is warm and wet, tracing the edge of the stain, unhurriedly. It swipes over your skin with deliberate care, tasting the faint sweetness of wine that lingers there.

“You taste so good, dolcezza,” he moans. The compliment makes your stomach flutter, heat blossoming in your lower abdomen as he tilts his head. He licks the wine off your collarbone until none remains, then bites at the spot where your collarbone curves into your neck. Luigi sucks at your skin gently, teeth indenting into you, leaving their mark. His tongue soothes the spot immediately, lips following with soft, open-mouthed kisses against your neck that make your head spin. His hands on your waist tighten, thumbs brushing over your ribs deliberately, as if he’s attempting to memorize the shape of you.

“I missed you,” he mutters against your skin. His forehead rests briefly in the crook of your neck. He pants softly. “God, I’ve missed you so fucking much.”

The coarseness of his voice cuts through the haze of passion. They tug at the parts of you that have been angry and hurt.

You love him. God help you, you love him.

You want to tell him just how much you’ve missed him, too, how his absence has felt like an open wound ever since he disappeared in September. He chose to leave and you spent months telling yourself you would never be in this position again–that you would never let him ruin you. You could scream at him for the pain he’s caused you, to let him know just how unbearable these days without him have been, how you never want to go back to that time of your life ever again. You could reprimand him for the real, shitty fucking legacy he forsook in his place. But instead, you close the distance between you.

The bathroom still feels too small, the light casting a glow over the tangled mess of emotions between you, but it doesn’t matter now. As Luigi continues to kiss you, pressing his mouth against yours, the anger and questions you’ve carried all these months fade away. For now, the fact that he’s here is enough.

He pulls back abruptly, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with your own. His eyes, dark and searching, meet yours, and there’s something unspoken–it feels like a question and an apology.

“We can’t stay here,” he murmurs to you. A smile creeps onto his face, and a glimmer of the man you knew before the distance and silence shines through. “Unless you really like this sink.”

You laugh gently, arms unhooking from his back to tangle themselves in his hair again. “I must admit, it’s not the most comfortable spot.”

He straightens slightly, his hands sliding to the backs of your thighs. He hoists you in his arms. Your arms loop around his neck instinctively.

“Luigi, your back–”

“I’m okay,” he reassures you, cutting you off with a kiss. “I’m alright.”

His grip is steady, movements careful, and he carries you out of the bathroom, walking to your bedroom. When he reaches the doorway, he pauses, gaze falling to yours, silently waiting for your permission.

You nod and he steps inside. Luigi lowers you onto the bed and you sink into the plush of the mattress. He lingers for a moment, his hands still on your waist. Grabbing his arms, you scoot further up the bed, dragging him with you. He hovers above you, then he leans down to kiss you again, slower this time. His hands trail from your waist to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“You’re sure?” he whispers against your lips. His voice sounds so quiet, it’s almost lost to the silence of your room.

Instead of answering, you only pull him closer, fingers weaving into his hair, tugging him back into a kiss that says everything your words can not. His body presses into yours, the space between you disappearing entirely. His hands never leave your skin, lips continuously tracing paths that leave you breathless. He melts into you, and you into him. That night, he turns your bedroom into a sanctuary, a place of worship.

The incense you burn on your vinyl shelf in the living room is long forgotten.

244 notes · View notes

surielstea · 3 months ago

Text

Dancing With Fate - III

Read part one and two first!

Pairing: Nyx x TamlinsDaughter!Reader

Summary: Nyx and Reader are advancing in their relationship, now in the Day court where they can spend time together without fear of getting caught.

Warnings: A little heated kissing but this is just a fluff chapter!

A.Note: Guysss this little series is about to get so good and juicy I promise, also please vote on this poll for what you’d like to see in the next chapter!

Wordcount: 7.5k

The morning I was set to leave, Spring Court's estate felt suffocating. The weight of my father's expectations, the ever-watchful eyes of the sentries, the knowledge that I was slipping away not just for a visit—but for him—pressed down on me. I told myself it wasn't a lie. I was going to see Lucien. I was supposed to be there. But deep in my chest, the bond hummed, whispering truths I couldn't ignore.

I could still feel his lips on mine, the press of his hands at my waist, the quiet promise he had left me with before I winnowed away. Three days. It had felt like an eternity. Now that the time had come, I found myself glancing over my shoulder as I crossed the courtyard, my pulse quickening with every step toward the open lands of Spring.

My father had been surprisingly agreeable when I asked to visit Lucien—perhaps because I rarely asked for anything at all. Perhaps because it was easier for him to believe I sought an escape rather than suspect the truth. Either way, the approval had been granted after minor convincing.

I let out a slow breath, focusing on my destination as I prepared to winnow.

The air shimmered around me, and with a final glance at my home—if it could even be called that—I vanished.

The Day Court was a world of golden light and sprawling dunes, a kingdom carved from the sun itself. I landed on one of its marble pathways, the heat instantly settling over my skin like a second layer. White and gold towers stretched toward the sky, the brilliance of them nearly blinding.

Lucien was already waiting.

He leaned against one of the courtyard pillars, arms crossed, his red hair catching the sunlight in hues of copper and fire. He arched a brow the moment I appeared, pushing off the pillar with a lazy sort of grace.

"You're on time," he mused. "Did the skies part for a miracle, or are you actually excited to see me?"

I rolled my eyes, falling into step beside him as he led me toward the palace. "Don't flatter yourself, Lucien. I'm just desperate for decent company."

His chuckle was warm, genuine, but his sharp gaze flickered over me, assessing. Lucien always noticed more than he let on. "And here I thought Spring Court was finally growing on you."

I scoffed. "Like poison."

Lucien didn't argue. He simply guided me through the sunlit halls, the scent of citrus and sea breeze drifting through the open archways. But I could feel the words he wanted to say pressing against his tongue.

"Go on," I said finally. "Say whatever it is you're thinking before you combust."

He cast me a knowing glance. "You have a look about you."

I blinked. "A look?"

"A very particular look." He stopped in front of a set of golden doors, his expression unreadable. "The kind that usually means trouble."

I fought the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. "You're imagining things."

"I've known you since you were six," Lucien huffed a quiet laugh, pushing the doors open. "But if you say so."

The throne room was empty when we stepped inside. Not that I expected anything different—Lucien had told me Helion would be absent for the week, handling an issue near the borders. It made my request easier, less complicated.

"How long will I be staying?" I asked, trailing a hand along the intricate carvings of the marble table.

"As long as you need," Lucien answered, his voice easy, but his gaze watchful. "But your father expects a week. Don't get any ideas."

I turned to him, weighing my words carefully. "You did say I could visit whenever I wanted."

"That, I did," he acknowledged. "But I also know you don't make casual trips anywhere. So either you've grown fond of me—" He smirked. "—or there's something else going on."

I hesitated, the bond thrumming softly in my chest. Nyx would be here soon. I could feel it, that gentle pull like a tide calling me home.

"I just need time," I said finally. "Time away from Spring. Time to breathe."

Lucien studied me, his expression softening just slightly. Then he nodded. "Then you'll have it."

Relief flooded through me, but before I could thank him, the air behind me stirred.

The scent of summer rain and star-kissed skies filled the room.

My breath caught.

Lucien's lips twitched, amusement flashing in his russet eye as he glanced past me. "Right. Now this all makes sense."

I turned, and there he was.

Nyx stood in the archway, clad in deep blue, his dark hair tousled by the wind. His sapphire eyes locked onto mine, something unreadable flickering within them.

A slow, lazy smirk curved his lips. "Miss me, princess?"

Lucien let out a long, dramatic sigh. "Cauldron boil me. You do have a look about you."

Nyx didn't hesitate as he crossed the room, moving with that effortless confidence that made it impossible to look away. Like the world had never given him a reason to doubt himself. Like he belonged here, with me.

The bond hummed softly in my chest as he stopped a few feet away, his gaze settling on Lucien with a quiet, knowing amusement.

Lucien, for his part, didn't seem surprised. He just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before leveling a sharp look at me. "So. This is why you came."

I winced. "Lucien—"

He held up a hand. "Tell me the truth. How long has this been going on?"

I hesitated, stealing a glance at Nyx, who only smirked. Smug bastard. "It's...new."

Lucien arched a brow. "New?"

"Three days," Nyx supplied unhelpfully, rocking back on his heels. "Well, three days since she kissed me."

Lucien's eye twitched. I swatted Nyx's arm.

"Since we kissed," I corrected.

Lucien's gaze flicked between us, unimpressed. Then he exhaled heavily. "And your parents?"

My stomach twisted. I dropped my gaze, my fingers curling into the sleeves of Nyx's jacket. "None of them know."

Lucien let out a short, humorless laugh. "Gods, just like your parents. Just like them." He ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. "Why do both of your families insist on making my life difficult?"

"Lucien—" I started, guilt pressing into my ribs.

"I know, Fawn," he interrupted, shaking his head. "You're good. You're okay."

I exhaled, my shoulders loosening slightly. I hated using Lucien's kindness like this, but I needed this. I needed to be here, needed him.

Lucien gave me a long, considering look before sighing dramatically. "My wife will be thrilled that Nyx is visiting, so I suppose you can stay." He gave a look of acknowledgment to the heir of Night.

Nyx dipped his head in gratitude, but before he could respond, Lucien turned to him fully with a sharp, easy threat. "Though, if you hurt her, and I'll be sending armies to your doorstep."

I groaned. "Uncle—"

"Completely understood," Nyx said, ignoring my protests.

Lucien only huffed, then turned toward the open archway. "Come on, Your Highness, let's get you settled before I regret my entire existence."

Nyx winked at me before following, falling into step beside him as they led me through the sunlit halls.

—

Lucien's home within the Day Court was smaller than the palace itself but no less grand. The rooms were warm, decorated in golds and creams, with sweeping balconies that overlooked the distant dunes.

Lucien pushed open a set of doors, revealing a guest suite. "This is for her," he said pointedly, flicking his gaze to Nyx. "You, however, can take the room down the hall."

Nyx smirked. "Separate rooms? What do you take me for, Vanserra?"

Lucien gave him a deadpan stare. "Someone with a death wish."

I stepped inside before they could continue, rolling my eyes. "You two are worse than children."

Nyx only chuckled, leaning against the doorframe as I took in the space. It was lovely—soft linens, airy curtains, a private balcony that bathed the room in golden light, and a ginormous bathtub sunken into the floor like the room's very own indoor pool. All this for a guest?

I was going to tease Lucien about it but when I turned back, Nyx was watching me carefully.

"We don't have long," he murmured, the humor fading just slightly from his voice.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the fabric of my dress. "I know."

Lucien cleared his throat. "Right. That's my cue to leave." He shot me a look, something softer beneath his usual exasperation. "Get some rest, Fawn. Meet me for breakfast in the morning."

I nodded, and with one last warning glance at Nyx, he slipped out.

Silence settled.

Nyx didn't move from the door. He just looked at me, something unreadable in his expression.

Three days. Three days without him, and yet the pull between us was stronger than ever.

I let out a slow breath. "I missed you."

Nyx's smile was slow, knowing. He stepped closer, hands bracing on either side of the doorframe. "Yeah?"

My pulse fluttered. But I refused to look away. "Yeah."

Nyx hummed, gaze sweeping over me like he was committing me to memory.

"C'mere then." He gives me one of those signature smirks.

I let go of the grip I had on my dress as I approached him, suppressed smile on my face.

His eyes follow me, watching my every movement as I come closer but not making a move to cross the threshold of my bedroom.

I peer up at him through my lashes, blinking once, twice. Then, "I missed you too," He murmured, leaning down and sealing a gentle kiss to my aching lips.

I pulled away first, and immediately regretted it the moment his lips left mine.

But he moved away, and with a quiet, secretive grin, he murmured, "Come find me when you can't sleep."

And just like that, he was gone.

—

Sleep evaded me.

I had tried—tried curling into the soft sheets, tried counting my breaths, tried pretending the bond wasn't a tangible thing pulling me toward the other side of the hall. But it was no use. The awareness of him, of Nyx, was a whisper against my skin, a constant hum in my chest.

With a soft exhale, I pushed back the covers and slipped out of my room.

The halls were quiet, bathed in moonlight. The Day Court at night had a different kind of beauty—soft, glowing, endless. I made my way toward his room, heart hammering for reasons I wasn't ready to name.

Nyx must have sensed me before I even reached the door, because the moment I lifted my fist to knock, it swung open.

He stood there, leaning lazily against the frame, shirtless, like he had been waiting. His smirk was immediate. "Couldn't stay away, Princess?"

I rolled my eyes, brushing past him into the room and inviting myself in. "Don't flatter yourself."

His room was similar to mine, only slightly smaller, with the same open balcony letting in the cool night air. The scent of him—night-blooming jasmine, crisp wind, something uniquely Nyx—wrapped around me instantly.

I turned just as he shut the door, crossing his arms. "So, what's keeping you up? Me?" His grin was all arrogance.

I huffed. "The bond."

Nyx's eyes darkened slightly, but he still managed a chuckle. "I am the bond, sweetheart."

Heat bloomed in my chest, but I ignored it, watching as he sat on the edge of the bed with a casual grace. "We should talk about it."

Nyx arched a brow. "About how wildly in love with me you already are?"

I tossed a glare at him. He returned it with a laugh, his sapphire eyes somehow beckoning me closer. "Alright," he said, quieter this time. "Let's talk."

I swallowed, unsure where to begin. "Are we...accepting it while we're here?"

Nyx's expression turned thoughtful, something softer creeping into his gaze. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I don't want to rush you," he said, voice low, steady. "But I also don't want to pretend it's not there."

I nodded slowly. That was the problem. The bond was there, a silent, unyielding thing, urging us closer. Ignoring it felt unnatural. But accepting it—fully—was irreversible. And rejecting it, for some reason, was out of the question.

Nyx must have sensed my hesitation because his lips twitched. "You know," he mused, a grin on his lips that could only mean trouble, "Lucien and Elain's rooms are at the opposite end of the hall."

I blinked, confused. "And?"

He smirked. "So if there are any... aftereffects of us accepting the bond, they won't hear a thing."

Heat flooded my face. "Nyx."

He grinned. "Just saying, if you're worried about keeping them up—"

"Nyx." I smacked his arm, and he just laughed, catching my wrist with ease.

With a soft tug, he pulled me forward until I was standing between his legs. My breath hitched as he peered up at me, his grip warm, steady.

"You're overthinking it," he murmured.

I bit my lip tentatively. "It's a lot to think about."

His hands slid up my arms, slow and careful, like he was mapping out the places he could touch, where I would let him. "Then don't think," he whispered. "Just...stay."

I hesitated.

Then, finally, I let out a breath and climbed onto the bed beside him.

Nyx shifted easily, stretching out against the pillows, one arm behind his head as he watched me settle in. "See? Not so bad."

I rolled onto my side, facing him. "Don't get used to this."

"Too late," he said, grinning.

A comfortable silence stretched between us, the weight of the bond settling into something warm, something oddly familiar.

Then—

"What if we did accept it?" I asked softly, tracing patterns into the sheets with a fingertip.

Nyx was quiet for a moment. When I glanced up, his gaze had softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"I think," he murmured, reaching over to brush his knuckles against my cheek, "it would feel like this."

"Like what?"

His thumb skimmed the corner of my mouth, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper.

"Like something I don't ever want to stop."

A shiver ran through me, but I forced myself to scoff. "You're so dramatic."

He chuckled, his hand drifting away, but not before his fingers brushed against my wrist, lingering. "You love it."

I did. I really, really did.

Nyx was still watching me, his expression unreadable but utterly devastating. His fingers, still barely brushing against mine, curled slightly, testing.

I should have pulled away. Should have ignored the way the space between us felt unbearable, like a string stretched too tight, ready to snap.

Instead, I turned my hand over, letting our fingers fully intertwine.

Nyx inhaled sharply.

His other hand lifted, tracing the shape of my jaw before tilting my chin up ever so slightly. His touch was featherlight, like he was waiting for me to pull back, to stop this before it started.

I didn't. I couldn't.

His eyes darkened, and I barely had time to take a breath before his lips brushed against mine.

Soft, at first. A question. I answered by pressing closer, hand against his hard chest.

Nyx groaned, low in his throat, and then he was kissing me in earnest, his hand sliding to cup the back of my neck, pulling me flush against him.

Heat curled through me, my body igniting at the sheer rightness of it—of him. His lips moved against mine with slow, devastating precision, coaxing, deepening.

I gasped as his teeth grazed my lower lip, and he took the opportunity to press even closer, his tongue sweeping into my mouth in a way that had my fingers running up his nape and tangling in his hair, pulling, needing.

Nyx growled softly, his grip tightening, his body shifting so that I was beneath him now, the weight of him pressing into me in the most delicious way.

I should have stopped him. Should have reminded him that Lucien and Elain were likely eavesdropping, that this wasn't what we came here for.

But all I could do was gasp against his lips, drowning in him as he kissed me like he'd been waiting a lifetime to do so.

And maybe he had.

The tether between us hummed, alive, crackling like a storm ready to break. My entire body felt like it was on fire, burning for something I wasn't sure I was ready for—but gods, did I want it.

Nyx pulled away just enough to press his forehead against mine, his breaths ragged, uneven. "Tell me to stop," he whispered, his lips barely brushing against mine. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

I didn't say anything.

Because I didn't want him to stop.

Instead, I tightened my grip in his hair and kissed him again.

Nyx practically purred, deepening the kiss instantly, his hands sliding down my sides, gripping my waist like he was trying to anchor himself. I whimpered as he tilted my head back, his lips tracing a path along my jaw, down my throat—

I shuddered. "Nyx—"

He froze, his breathing heavy. "Too much?"

I hesitated, my mind hazy, body thrumming, aching. I didn't want to stop, didn't want this night to end—but I knew if we kept going, if I let him keep kissing me like this, there would be no turning back.

Slowly, I nodded.

Nyx let out a shaky breath, then pressed a lingering kiss to my shoulder before rolling onto his back, dragging me with him. His arm curled around my waist, keeping me tucked against his side.

I pressed my face into his chest, inhaling deeply. His heart was racing.

"Sleep, Princess," he murmured against my hair, pressing a final kiss to my forehead.

I exhaled softly, my body still humming, my lips still tingling, my heart still pounding.

But as Nyx's warmth surrounded me, as his arms tightened slightly around me, I found that—for the first time all night—I was finally at peace.

And sleep came easily.

The warmth of the Day Court sun streamed in through the open balcony doors, golden light spilling over the plush bedding and dancing across the smooth marble floors. A gentle breeze carried the scent of citrus and wildflowers, and the distant sound of birdsong filled the air—soft, melodic, impossibly peaceful.

I stretched beneath the silk sheets, the remnants of sleep clinging to my limbs. Nyx's steady breathing was warm against my neck, his arm a heavy weight draped over my waist. The bond hummed between us, quiet, content.

Carefully, I slipped from his grasp, his fingers twitching slightly in protest but aside from that he didn't stir.

I smiled to myself, watching as he burrowed further into the pillows that likely smelled of me, the golden light turning his midnight-dark hair almost copper in the morning glow.

For a male who spent so much time under the stars, he certainly slept through the hours of night like a log.

Shaking my head fondly, I padded across the room, stepping out into the hallway and making my way back to my own quarters across the hall.

The Day Court truly was beautiful in the morning—the soft glow of the sun filtering through sheer golden curtains, the air crisp and warm all at once. By the time I reached my room, I was fully awake, the peaceful hum of the court settling over me like a second skin.

I dressed in a white silk gown, the fabric flowing like liquid over my frame, cinched at the waist with a delicate golden belt. My jewelry was plentiful—thin, glimmering chains draped over my collarbones, golden cuffs sliding up my arms, rings adorning my fingers.

I had just finished fastening the final piece of jewelry when the door behind me creaked open.

I caught his reflection in the mirror before he could even enter.

Nyx stood in the doorway, his hair an absolute mess, his eyes heavy with sleep. He hadn't bothered with a shirt, his bare chest golden in the sunlight, the tattooed whorls of the night sky on his skin dark against the warm glow. He was beautiful—in that utterly devastating, ruinous kind of way.

He said nothing as he crossed the room, his steps slow, languid, his body still half-asleep.

Then his arms were sliding around my shoulders, his bare chest pressing against my back, his face tucking into the crook of my neck. His lips brushed against my skin—soft, lingering.

"Come back to bed," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

I smiled, meeting his gaze in the mirror as he sighed against my skin. "You are such a night owl."

One of his hands trailed up my arm, fingers ghosting over the golden cuffs there. "That's because I am Night," he grumbled. "It's unnatural for me to be awake this early."

I huffed a quiet laugh, reaching up to lace my fingers with his where they rested on my shoulder. "And yet, you're awake."

"I wouldn't be if you hadn't abandoned me." His lips brushed over my throat again, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I have breakfast with Lucien," I reminded him, though the words were already losing their strength.

Nyx hummed, as if considering coercing me out of that particular plan. His grip tightened slightly, his fingers curling around my waist as he exhaled against my skin. "Or," he suggested, his voice a low murmur, "you could stay."

I turned in his arms, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling back just enough to murmur, "I'll be back soon."

Nyx sighed, dramatically, his hands tracing slow circles along my back. "You're cruel," he muttered.

I grinned, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. "You'll live."

"Debatable."

I rolled my eyes, but before I could move, he kissed me again—slow, lazy, lingering. By the time he pulled away, I had half a mind to actually abandon breakfast.

But I forced myself to step back, smoothing my gown as I gave him a knowing look. "Go back to sleep, Night Prince."

Nyx smirked, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that was far too awake for someone who had been dead to the world only minutes ago. "You'll come find me after?"

I nodded. "I'll come find you after."

Seemingly satisfied, he took a slow step backward, his lips twitching. "Enjoy breakfast, princess," he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't miss me too much."

I barely resisted the urge to throw a pillow at him as I slipped out the door.

The Day Court's dining terrace overlooked a sprawling garden, the morning sunlight painting the marble floors in warm golds and soft whites. A faint citrus breeze carried through the open-air space, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread, honeyed fruit, and roasted coffee.

Lucien was already seated at the table, a cup of tea in one hand, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

"Good morning, Fawn," he greeted, setting his cup down as I slid into the chair across from him.

I sighed, reaching for a slice of peach from the array of food laid before us. "I knew I should have stayed in bed."

Lucien chuckled, reaching for his own plate. "You wound me. I would have thought you'd missed me."

"I did," I admitted, which earned me a pleased look. "But I also knew that my first morning here would be spent with you poking at me like a bored hound with a bone."

Lucien hummed, popping a grape into his mouth as he leaned back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest. "You make it sound so terrible."

I gave him a dry look. "You live for gossip."

"And you have been supplying me with an endless amount of it," he countered, flashing a sharp grin. "You and the heir to the Night Court, sneaking around behind your father's back?" He shook his head, clicking his tongue. "Do you know how much restraint it takes for me not to send a letter to Tamlin about this?"

I nearly choked on my tea. "You wouldn't."

Lucien's russet eye twinkled with mischief. "Wouldn't I?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, but there was no real threat in my stare. He was teasing—mostly. "You wouldn't because I'm your favorite."

Lucien let out a bark of laughter. "You think that's enough to keep me quiet?"

I plucked a croissant from the basket, tearing off a piece with deliberate slowness. "I also brought Nyx with me, which means Elain is getting a visit from her favorite nephew," I said sweetly. "And I doubt she'd be pleased if his visit was cut short by some ill-timed news reaching Spring."

Lucien raised a brow, amused. "Using my wife against me? Low blow."

"You leave me no choice."

He chuckled, shaking his head before taking a sip of his tea. "Fine, your secret is safe with me. For now."

I exhaled in relief, but he wasn't done.

"So," he continued, smirking, "do you always sneak into his bed, or was last night a special occasion?"

I set my croissant down with exaggerated care. "You are insufferable."

Lucien grinned, positively delighted. "Oh, come now. I'm merely curious."

I sighed, shaking my head. "And here I thought you wanted to talk about Spring."

Lucien's expression didn't shift, but I saw the flicker of something—wariness, perhaps, or exhaustion—pass through his russet eye before he settled back into that smooth, unbothered demeanor.

"You want to talk about Spring?" he mused, sipping at his tea. "Now that's a first."

I hesitated, fingers toying with the edge of my napkin. "It's been... stable?"

Lucien huffed a quiet laugh. "Stable is one word for it."

I lifted a brow, silently urging him to continue.

He sighed, swirling his tea in his cup. "Your father is as he always is. Withdrawn. Distrustful. Trying to mend what little he has left, though his attempts have been... half-hearted, at best." A pause, then a softer, "He does love you, you know. Don't take that for granted."

I looked down at my plate, a strange weight pressing against my ribs. "I know, I try not to. I love him too."

Lucien sighed, setting his cup down. "Well, that was depressing."

I let out a weak laugh, grateful for the shift in subject. "You brought it up."

"Yes, but now I regret it," he muttered before shooting me a sidelong glance, that familiar smirk returning. "Luckily, we have a much juicier topic to discuss."

I groaned. "Lucien—"

He ignored my warning tone, lips twitching. "How was sleeping with the Night Court's heir?"

"I hate you."

"Did you snuggle?" He grinned. "You did, didn't you?"

I picked up my spoon, debating throwing it at his head.

Lucien laughed, positively beaming. "Oh, this is delightful."

"You are the worst."

"I am," he agreed, unbothered. "But I'm also right."

I sighed, shaking my head. "I am never telling you anything ever again."

Lucien simply smiled, far too pleased with himself.

And somehow, despite his relentless teasing, breakfast was... nice. Easy, even.

Lucien had always been that way—quick-witted, sharp-tongued, but warm beneath it all. And for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to enjoy that warmth, even as he smirked knowingly over the rim of his tea cup.

The soft pad of footsteps against marble had me glancing up just as Elain entered the terrace, sunlight catching in the golden waves of her hair. She was radiant in the morning glow, dressed in a pale yellow gown that complemented the warmth of her brown eyes.

Lucien's teasing stopped instantly.

His gaze softened, his entire being seeming to realign as he turned toward his mate. The smug amusement he had wielded so effortlessly moments ago melted into something quieter, something devotional, as if Elain were the only thing in existence.

"Good morning, my love," Lucien greeted, rising smoothly to pull out a chair for her.

Elain smiled at him, a soft, knowing thing, before placing a kiss on his cheek and settling into her seat. "Good morning," she replied before glancing at me, her expression warm. "I'm so happy you're here."

I smiled back, genuinely. "I'm happy to be here."

She took a sip of tea before asking, "What do you have planned for today?"

I glanced at Lucien, who was too busy staring at his mate to contribute to the conversation, then looked back at Elain with an amused huff. "That depends on what there is to do in the Day Court."

Elain brightened. "Oh, there's so much. The markets are always lovely in the mornings, and later today there will be a performance in the amphitheater—music, dance, sometimes storytelling, depending on the day. We could also visit the gardens."

At that, Lucien seemed to shake himself from his daze just long enough to say, "She loves the gardens."

Elain laughed softly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "I do."

The moment their hands touched, Lucien's thumb traced small circles over her knuckles, his russet eye drinking her in as if he hadn't seen her in ages, as if she were the only thing tethering him to this world.

I looked away, feeling like an intruder on something sacred.

Instead, I focused on my tea, swirling it in my cup before Elain's next words had me stiffening.

"And what about you?" she asked gently. "What do you have planned with Nyx?"

Lucien tensed beside her at the mention of his nephew but, surprisingly, didn't interrupt.

I hesitated before answering. "I... don't know yet."

Elain tilted her head slightly, studying me. "You two seem happy."

A small, shy smile tugged at my lips despite myself. "It's... new."

Her expression softened. "New can be wonderful."

I glanced at Lucien then, at the way his entire world seemed to orbit Elain, at the ease with which they simply existed together.

They had a love that was constant, unshaken. One that didn't need to be loud or demanding, because it was felt—in the way Lucien always reached for Elain without thinking, in the way she always seemed to understand him without words.

I wanted that.

I wanted something sure. Something safe. Something like them.

Elain must have seen something in my expression, because she reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "You'll find your way," she assured me, voice as soft as the morning light.

I swallowed, nodding. "I hope so."

Breakfast ended not long after, Lucien and Elain caught in their own little world as I excused myself.

I walked back to my room slowly, heart and mind tangled in thoughts of what I wanted—of him.

And of whether or not we would ever have something like the love I had just witnessed.

I pushed open the door to my room, the silk of my gown whispering against the marble floor as I stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was the mess of dark hair sprawled across my pillows, the sheets tangled around long limbs and bare skin.

Nyx had crawled into bed. My bed.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. "You do know you have your own room, right?"

A low, sleepy groan rumbled from the depths of my blankets, his face still buried in my pillow. "Too far," he mumbled.

I snorted. "It's across the hall."

"Exactly," he sighed dramatically, cracking one sleepy eye open. His voice was heavy with drowsiness, warm and lazy in a way that made something in my chest tighten. "Besides, your bed smells better."

I raised a brow. "That's not a compliment if you're just stealing."

He grinned, stretching like a cat before reaching a hand out for me. "Come here."

"Absolutely not."

His lips tilted into something smug. "Oh?"

"Nyx, it's nearly noon."

"So?" He patted the space beside him. "Come lay down."

I laughed, shaking my head as I stepped closer to the bed. "You are so lazy."

"Excuse me," he feigned offense, propping himself up on an elbow, hair a tousled mess. "I am strategic in my rest."

I huffed, sitting on the edge of the bed, but the moment I did, he was moving—strong arms wrapping around my waist as he pulled me down beside him.

"Nyx!" I yelped, but he only laughed, tucking his face into the crook of my neck.

"There we go," he murmured, his lips pressing against my skin in a way that was entirely unfair. "Much better."

I sighed, pretending to be put out even as I melted into the warmth of him. "You are impossible."

"You love it."

I rolled my eyes, but before I could retort, he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to my jaw. The argument died in my throat.

"You look beautiful," he murmured against my skin, his voice still thick with sleep. "Does every court suit you? Or are you just naturally perfect?"

A rush of heat curled in my chest. "Flattery will not get you out of trouble."

He hummed, brushing his nose along my cheek before stealing a kiss from my lips. "Five minutes," he mused, brushing another kiss over the corner of my mouth. "Just five and then we can get up."

"Fine. Five minutes." I lean into him, melting into the warmth that was his skin.

He kissed me again, slower this time as if savoring the remnants of whatever sweetness still lingered. "Lucien didn't give you a hard time, did he?"

I huffed a laugh, playing with the strands of dark hair at the nape of his neck. "Lucien is always a menace."

Nyx chuckled, his breath warm against my lips. "I bet he was insufferable."

"He was fine," I admitted, tracing a lazy pattern against his bare shoulder. "Elain joined us."

He tilted his head, brows lifting slightly. "Oh?"

I nodded. "She asked about you."

His lips curled. "And what did you say?"

"That you are insufferable, whiny, and prone to excessive dramatics."

Nyx gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Whiny?"

I grinned. "You are."

He narrowed his eyes playfully. "So harsh, princess."

I laughed, but the sound faded as he brushed his fingers over my cheek, his expression softening. "Did you sleep well?"

I hesitated before nodding. "I did."

"Good." He kissed me again, slow and sweet, his thumb brushing against my jaw. "I like waking up with you—even though you left me before I could."

Something inside me melted at the confession, at the sincerity in his voice.

I bit my lip, trying to fight back a smile. "You're so soft when you're sleepy."

He groaned, flopping onto his back. "And the moment is ruined."

I laughed, rolling onto my side to look down at him. "Come on, Nyx. Admit it."

His arm flung over his eyes. "Never."

I grinned, leaning down to press a teasing kiss against his jaw. "I like it."

His breath hitched slightly, but his arms wound around me again, pulling me closer.

And as I settled into the warmth of him, into the safety of his embrace, I realized—this, whatever we were becoming, whatever this bond between us was shaping into—felt new and foreign.

But gods, it was lovely.

After fifteen minutes Nyx still had me caged against him, his arms wrapped securely around my waist as if he had no intention of letting me leave. Every time I so much as shifted, his grip tightened, and a pleased hum rumbled in his throat.

"Nyx," I warned, pressing my hands against his bare chest, though my voice lacked any real heat.

"Mmm," he murmured lazily, nuzzling into the crook of my neck, his lips ghosting over my skin. "Five more minutes."

I huffed, though the way my body betrayed me—melting into his warmth, my fingers tracing the lines of his shoulders—was not helping my case. "You said that fifteen minutes ago."

"I don't recall."

I let out an exaggerated sigh. "You're impossible."

He lifted his head slightly, his messy dark hair falling into his sleepy eyes. "And yet, you're still here."

I scowled at him, but it was utterly ineffective given the way my face was burning.

His grin widened. "You like this."

"No, I don't."

Nyx hummed, unconvinced. "Sure you don't." Then, as if to prove his point, he kissed me—slow and indulgent, his lips warm and sure against mine. My breath caught, my fingers tightening against his skin.

His hands roamed lazily, tracing along my waist, my back, settling just beneath the curve of my ribs. "You're so soft," he mused between kisses, his voice dripping with that infuriating smugness. "So warm."

I glared at him, my face burning. "You're so full of yourself."

His chuckle was dark and teasing. "Only because you make it so easy, Princess."

I groaned, flopping onto my back as he propped himself up on an elbow, hovering over me with a stupidly satisfied expression. "You are so lucky left my daggers in Spring."

Nyx only grinned, dipping down to nip at my jaw, his voice warm with amusement. "I'd like to see you try."

I shoved at his shoulder, but he barely budged. His weight was solid and steady against me, and I knew—knew—that I could have pushed him away if I wanted to. But I didn't.

Nyx's fingers skimmed along my arm, down to my wrist, to where he laced our fingers together. "Are you going to stay here with me?"

"I have things to do, you know."

"Like what?" He raised a brow, his nose brushing against mine. "Surely nothing more interesting than me."

I snorted. "You'd be surprised."

He gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "Now that is just cruel."

I rolled my eyes, lifting a hand to comb through his messy hair, smoothing it back. His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, and my heart did something ridiculous in my chest.

I swallowed, brushing my thumb over his cheekbone. "You're so clingy."

His eyes opened, a lazy smirk curling his lips. "And you love it."

I huffed, but my lips twitched despite myself. "Maybe a little."

Nyx's expression softened, his fingers brushing my cheek as he leaned in. "Good."

His mouth pressed against mine again, stealing whatever breath I had left. My heart raced, my fingers fisting in the fabric of the sheets as his hand traced down, over the silk of my gown, teasing along my thigh. His touch burned—not in a way that made me want to pull away, but in a way that made me want more.

And that should have terrified me. It didn't.

It only made me want to hold onto him tighter, to let myself fall.

I exhaled shakily when he finally pulled away, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth. He was still watching me, waiting.

And gods, I knew. I knew.

The mating bond shimmered between us, pulsing, undeniable. I could feel it, pulling me closer to him with every breath, every heartbeat.

I wanted it.

Screw that our parents didn't know. Screw that this would be irreversible. That once we accepted it, there was no undoing it, no way for them to separate us even if they tried.

I wanted this. I wanted him.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of what that meant.

"Nyx?"

"Princess?" he drawled, his voice thick with warmth, teasing as he brushed his fingers over my wrist.

I hesitated for a moment before saying, "Can you teach me how to block you out of my head?"

Nyx's lips twitched. "You mean my Daemati powers?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He hummed in thought, tilting his head. "Of course. Though, why the sudden interest?"

I kept my expression carefully neutral, knowing full well he'd see right through me if I wasn't careful. "Just seems like a good skill to have."

Nyx studied me for a long moment before his lips curved in amusement. "You're a terrible liar."

I scowled. "Am not."

He laughed, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Alright, alright. Come here."

I let him shift us so I was sitting cross-legged in front of him, his hands resting lightly on my knees. His gaze softened, the usual teasing glint dimming just slightly as he said, "I want you to imagine a wall in your mind. Something strong. Something unbreakable."

"A wall," I repeated, frowning.

"Yes. Picture it. And then focus on reinforcing it. Make it thick, make it impenetrable." His thumb traced circles against my knee as he watched me carefully.

I closed my eyes, inhaling slowly as I tried to summon that wall.

"Good," he murmured. "Now, I'm going to push just a little—try not to let me in."

I gritted my teeth as I felt the gentle probing at the edges of my mind. It was strange—like a featherlight touch, testing the defenses I'd barely managed to put up.

"Your wall is shaky," Nyx noted, the laughter in his voice evident. "I could break through it in an instant."

I cracked an eye open to glare at him. "You're so encouraging."

He grinned. "I'm just being honest."

I huffed, closing my eyes again and focusing, really focusing, on that barrier. I imagined thick, towering walls, impenetrable and unwavering. I strengthened them, bracing them against his presence.

Nyx hummed in approval. "Better."

A moment passed.

Then another.

And then—

"Huh," he muttered.

I opened my eyes to find him blinking at me, mildly impressed. "What?"

"You actually did it." He tapped his temple. "Can't hear a thing."

I grinned, triumphant. "Told you I could do it."

Nyx chuckled, his hands sliding up to my waist as he pulled me toward him. "I could still break it." He makes clear. "But now I can't hear em' unless I want to."

I smiled softly, "Good enough for me."

Then he kissed me.

Slow and deep, as if savoring the taste of victory along with me. His hands traced up my spine, his touch warm and steady as he pressed me closer. I melted into him, tilting my head to give him better access as his lips moved against mine with aching patience.

It was a reward, and I greedily took it.

When we finally parted, his lips trailed down my jaw, over the sensitive skin of my neck. "I should teach you things more often," he murmured against my skin, the words sending a shiver down my spine.

I swatted at his shoulder, but it was weak at best. "Behave."

He laughed, the sound muffled against my throat as he kissed a slow path back up to my mouth. "Not a chance."

I sighed, allowing myself to collapse onto the mattress, tugging him down with me. Nyx followed willingly, draping himself over me as if he had no intention of moving anytime soon.

"So," he mused, his lips brushing my shoulder, my collarbone, my jaw. "What do you want to do today?"

We eventually collapsed back onto the bed, tangled together. His hands roamed lazily, his lips finding every inch of bare skin he could reach. Between kisses, we murmured about what we could do today—halfheartedly listing off places we knew we wouldn't go, tasks we knew we wouldn't complete.

"We could go for a ride?" I suggested idly.

Nyx hummed, lips brushing my collarbone. "Mmm, sounds nice." His fingers traced circles on my hip. "Or we could stay right here."

"Lazy," I teased, though I had no intention of moving either.

He nipped at my shoulder in retaliation, making me squeak. "Not lazy," he corrected. "Just—" He kissed the corner of my mouth. "Comfortable." Another kiss on my cheek. "Perfectly, completely comfortable."

My heart thudded, my fingers tightening around his bicep. I could still feel the bond shimmering between us, waiting.

Waiting for me. Because he seemed to have already decided that accepting it was his only choice, the only one he'd acknowledge at least.

Nyx pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, his expression soft, but unreadable. "What?" he murmured.

I swallowed hard, smoothing my hand over his chest. "Nothing," I whispered.

Not yet.

He searched my face, but I knew he wouldn't find anything—not now. Because I had learned how to block him out. Because the next time I opened my mind to him, it would be on my terms. A choice. A gift.

Nyx pressed one last kiss to my lips before sighing, letting his head drop against the pillow. I curled into his warmth, letting my eyes drift shut, a secret burning in my chest.

The next time I let him in would be when I was ready to accept the bond. And I wanted it to be somewhat of a surprise.

Which meant he had to stay out of my mind—just for a few days. Just long enough for me to do what I had already decided.

What I knew I wanted.

I glanced at him then, at the male who had stolen my heart in the span of a few weeks, at the way he watched me with that easy, knowing smirk—completely unaware of what was coming.

A slow smile curled on my lips.

What I wanted.

Comment a request if you’d like to be added to the tag list! :)

DWF taglist: @pinklemonade34 @azrielsshadows42 @paintedbyshadows @phoenixgurl030 @annamariereads16 @juliaarwj @lucia-valentinaa @cookiedoughlover42 @pvrkacciosan @tiffydasquirrel @dianxiaxie @i-like-boooks @eggsnbackn @elisabethch82 @celestialgilb @sleepycheesecakehunter @lportes-22 @acourtofsmutandstarlight @esther334 @whatsupb18 @12358

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @hufflepuff-pa55 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @cumuluscranium @adharanotfound @azrielsmate3 @aelincaddel @hiddlestonspassionsackx @dee-writes-angst @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @pit-and-the-pen @mybestfriendmademe @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @circe143 @bubybubsters @joshysloshy @username199945 @ivy-34 @notsarareallynot @vixenshiftsvrs @aurorab99 @pey2618 @loving-and-dreaming

291 notes · View notes

eepwriting · 3 months ago

Note

Could I request a fic where fem!reader is touring with sleep token (maybe as like another band member or makeup artist) and finds out vessel has a crush on her? Then it turns really spicy really quickly lol

Notice ✶ Vessel x Fem! Reader

Warnings: nsfw, smut, angst, public sex?, quickie, simp!vessel, forbidden romance?

Looove this request anon thank you 🤍 I kinda wrote reader as already having a crush and Vessel feeling the same way, so I hope that’s okay!

!! mdni !!

✧༝┉˚ MASTERLIST ˚┉༝✧

✦ taglist: @ghostlygothicgay @skellyflowers @evisnotok @jeriiicho @adenobabe @rain-down-on-me

Join my 🏷️ taglist here ♡

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚

There was no way he could find out. No way he’d feel the same.

Out of fear of losing your job or friendship, you tried to hide it, keep your feelings to yourself. It hurt, sure, but what else was there to do? It’d be too much to loose if you let it slip. If he knew, he sure was good at keeping that secret to himself.

You’d been added to the crew to help with makeup and wardrobe, touring with the band for two whole rounds. You absolutely loved your job, including all the incredible people you’d come to meet, be able to call your friends. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Well, that’s not entirely true. If only you could get over this ‘problem’ you were forced to deal with. The 6’3, erratic dancing ‘problem’.

You knew right away, upon first meeting, that Vessel would have you wrapped around his finger in no time. The initial intrigue kept you almost pining after him, just wanting to know any and every thing about him. After breaking through his quiet, almost unnerving outer shell, he became the person you always wanted to talk to. Tell good or bad news to. Get advice on something you were struggling with. You thought him to be wise beyond his years, always knowing the right thing to say, offering the perfect advice as if he’d lived the experience 100 times over. He became a good, close friend.

Only, you didn’t just want to be somewhat close to him. Not just his close colleague. You wanted all of him. All his flaws, all his thoughts, all his time and all his energy.

Even if he gave you anything other than baseline professional behavior. It’d tie you over, soothe some of that sting you felt every time you saw him. Not that he ever would. He’s your boss after all.

“Quick word with you please.” His voice is close to your ear, you can feel the heat radiating off him. He startles you, but you quickly stuff the last of your equipment into your bag and zip it up, spinning to look at him. He looks in a hurry, bouncing on the balls of his feet, but his expression sits blank, at least his mouth gives off that impression. “Of course.”

He grabs your elbow, tugging you along his side as he guides you down the tunnel. “Is something wrong?” His warm hand slips to rest against the middle of your back as he shuffles you into a green room. He shakes his head but the nervous energy that suddenly surrounds the two of you makes your palms clammy. “I notice.” He shuts the door. The faint click of the lock barely reaches your ears, the nervous pounding of your heart too loud in your head. “What-?“ “I notice everything about you,” He talks quickly, “How excited you get when I come over to talk to you-you always try to hide it but I can always tell. The blush-and the fidgeting always gives it away.” You’re sure whatever blush he’s talking about is painted all over your cheeks right now. “I notice how you look at me. How you watch me when you think I can’t see you.” You let out a quiet laugh out of embarrassment.

“I-”

“I’m not trying to call you out,” he laughs. “I guess.. I’m just trying to say that I see you. I like you. I like knowing that you’re interested,” he takes a step closer, his hand slowly reaching out grab your own. “Makes me feel nice.”

Those last words make you smile and you clasp your hand over his. He visibly stiffens at the contact but relaxes when you reach out to pull him in for a hug. The boldness of your own move surprises you, but Vessel seems just as nervous as you are, so whats there to be afraid of?

He practically melts into you, letting out a sigh. “I hope you know I’m just as interested. Been interested for a long time.” His words are like music to your ears, sweeping the weight of your feelings off your shoulders. You’d waited long enough to hear him say something like that and you wanted nothing more than him right now. His long arms stay wrapped around you, your faces close, eyes searching the others for any sign of opposition. “But, I work for you.” You almost whine, your voice a whisper. His eyes flick to your mouth, “I don’t think I care about that.” He shakes his head slightly and searches your face again before leaning down to press his mouth to yours. His hands cup your face while yours clasp around his back. You’re surprised by his gentle tentativeness-appreciate it, actually, but you want more. Need more.

He lets you part his lips with your tongue and tilts your head back, standing to his full height. He moves to the side of your face, “Wanna make you feel nice too.” His voice comes out as a whine, his nose dragging along your cheek, almost nuzzling you. His fingers dance along your outstretched neck. “Please.” Your voice is scratchy.

It’s all he needs to hear to sweep you up and carry you to the nearest flat surface. The verbal go-ahead seems to seep into Vessel, turning him almost rabid. His hands are quick and impatient, popping the buttons on your bottoms, toying the zipper down, slipping under your shirt to feel untouched skin. They’re anywhere and everywhere. All the while he’s licking into your mouth, pulling your bottom lip into his own mouth with his teeth. He has your head spinning and you’re got off guard when he grabs your hands and brings them to his belt. He mewls at the slight contact of your palms on his covered cock, bucking into you. “Wanna feel you, please.”

He wastes no time once all layers are shed, pumping himself a few times with a wet palm before he’s pulling you closer. He can’t help himself, tapping the tip of his cock on your clit, dragging it down your slit, collecting your slick, his breath hitching as he watches how you react. He swallows any noise from you with a feverish kiss as he sinks the head of his cock in. He gives you a second to adjust when he finally delves all the way in, bottoming out. His hand cups your face again, his mouth peppering kisses on your cheeks and forehead, his fingers reaching to thread through your hair. His other hand is occupied with thumbing over your clit. It sends shockwaves through you. You love the way his jaw goes slack and his eyes glaze over every time you let a noise slip. It’s like he’s brought back to reality for a split second each time. “I’ve dreamed of this, you know that?” He’s looking at you fully now, eyes dark. His hips jut back and forward quickly. “S’good. Better than I imagined, fuck.”

You can wholeheartedly say you’ve done the same. Restless nights, tossing and turning, nerves buzzing and aching while you dream of him. You can only nod at him quickly, too overcome with want and need. He drills into you, not a care for how loud either of you are being. His forehead presses against your own. “Please,” you whine out. He’s got you right on the edge and he’s desperate to have you falling. His jaw is tight as he grinds his teeth, hips moving impossibly faster. Mouths meeting the others, breaths and whines mixing to making a tune you’d be thinking about later.

The release is numbing when it finally crashes over you. Starts at your toes and travels up to your cheeks. It chokes you, has you crying out a silent scream. Vessels completely hunched over you now. His movements are sloppy, his head in the crook of your neck. His hips stutter and freeze, a breathy, high pitched whine leaves his mouth. He stays that way for a short while, wrapping you in his arms, his hips moving slowly, greedily overstimulating the both of you. The loss of fullness makes you shiver when he pulls away. He watches the two of you disconnect, you watch his face. He’s mesmerized, you could say. Eyes glassy and unfocused when he looks back up at you.

He helps you clean up, back to the quiet and gentle way he always was. He pecks your lips and forehead, his hand smoothing down your hair, straightening your clothes. “I hope this doesn’t change anything.” You say as he straightens up his own. He watches you for a second before stepping closer, “Not at all. Although I would… love to do this again.” He towers over you, a warm hand gripping your elbow, eyes trailing over your lips. Your cheeks heat and you can’t help but smile, “Okay. Me too.” A smile you don’t see often break out across his face. He nods, “Okay.” His hand slips down to your own, engulfing it in warmth. A welcoming grounding as leads you out of the green room. A nice reassurance that he felt the same way that you did.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚

Y’alllllll what is this ending 😭

This has been sitting in my drafts for months so I don’t even know if I did this justice, but I hope you enjoyed.

K. Bye bye.

#sleep token #sleep token worship #sleep token fic #sleep token x reader #sleep token smut #sleep token vessel #vessel sleep token #vessel x reader

229 notes · View notes

aphroditelovesu · 5 months ago

Text

Letters from Olympias

❝commission: this is more abstract idea, but I'd be interested to see something with a 'letters to and from Olympias' theme. I've always wondered how Alexander broke the news of his marriage to y/n to his mother and how she reacted. The same goes for the birth of the twins. — requested by 💻 anon.

❝ 📜 — lady l: obviously there is a jump between letters, since events are yet to occur and writing a letter to them would be a big spoiler, but I focused on the ones that were mentioned in the story and at the birth! I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! I tried to leave as much of the personality that I imagine Olympias to be as possible. :)

❝tw: none.

❝word count: 2,052.

Letter from Olympias to Alexander after the attack on Cleitus and the news of the choice of bride:

"My dearest Alexander,

I hope these words find you in health and strength, even though my heart is restless as I write them. I have received news that has left me torn between concern and the need to advise you as a mother and as someone who has always longed to see your glory untouched.

I have learned that in a moment of anger you nearly killed Cleitus, a man who was loyal to you in so many battles and whose heart, though critical, was always devoted to your cause. Alexander, the greatness of a king is not measured only by his victories on the battlefield, but also by his ability to govern himself. Anger, when left unchecked, can be more destructive than the sharpest of enemies. I was relieved to learn that he survived, for I had feared the impact it would have on your heart and the loyalty of your soldiers if the gods did not favor Cleitus's recovery.

I also heard about your choice of bride, (Y/N), a woman whose origins are unknown to me and my sources in the camp. I confess that I was greatly surprised, not by the idea of a marriage, but by the fact that such an important decision was made without me, your mother, even being informed. Alexander, you know that I have always wanted the best for you, and as your mother, I have the right to understand the choices that shape your future and the future of our empire.

(Y/N) may be beautiful, she may be kind, but a King's marriage is not just a matter of personal affection. It is an alliance, a strategy, a decision that echoes beyond your life. Does she understand the weight of your crown? Will she be able to walk by your side without her presence weakening the image the world has of you?

I do not say this to belittle your feelings or your choice, but to remind you that a king’s destiny is never his alone. You are Alexander, undefeated in battle, my son, and your every step is watched by your men, your allies, and your enemies.

I ask you, my son, to reflect on your actions and choices. Do not allow passion or pride to distance you from those who love you and want the best for you. And above all, remember that your strength lies not only in your sword, but also in your wisdom and your ability to listen.

Whatever your decision, Alexander, I am your mother and will always be your ally. But please do not exclude me from your life. My concern is not only for the throne, but for you, my beloved son, who carries the world on your shoulders.

With love and concern, Olympias."

Letter from Olympias to Alexander after the wedding had already taken place:

"My beloved Alexander,

I received the news of your marriage to (Y/N), and my heart is filled with feelings that conflict with each other. As a mother, I cannot ignore the joy of knowing that you have found someone worthy of sharing your days. But as Queen and guardian of your lineage, I cannot help but express my surprise and concern at the way in which this union took place.

You are Alexander, my son, the conqueror of nations, the son of a god — and yet you chose to walk such a crucial path without even consulting your mother, who has always been by your side, guiding you, protecting you, and celebrating your victories. The absence of a word from you about this decision hurts me deeply, for I am not only your mother, but also someone who shares the weight of your burdens and responsibilities.

About (Y/N), I know nothing beyond what I have heard: that she appeared unexpectedly and won your heart. Who is this woman who now bears the title of your wife, your Queen, and by extension, such an important role in the destiny of our empire? What alliances does she bring with her? What strengths or weaknesses does she bring to your court? Will she replace me? No, how foolish of me to think so, no one could ever replace me in your life.

I do not doubt your ability to judge people, but, Alexander, a royal marriage is not just an act of love; it is a declaration to the world. It is a promise of stability, of strength, of strategy. What will your men say, who follow you for glory and the promise of a great future? What will the kings and generals say who watch you, waiting for any sign of weakness to rise up against you?

If (Y/N) is your choice, then so be it. As your mother, I will wish nothing less than happiness for you. But, Alexander, the happiness of a King is not the same as that of a common man. Your happiness must be aligned with the good of your empire, the future of your dynasty, and the preservation of your glory.

I ask that you allow me to meet your wife, so that I can understand what inspired you to make such a decision in (Y/N). I want to believe that she is worthy of you, not only as a man, but as the greatest of kings.

And, my son, always remember that I am here, as I have always been, to support you, to advise you and to love you, even when we disagree. You are my greatest work, my greatest pride and, above all, my son.

With eternal love, Your mother, Olympias."

Letter from Olympia to Alexander after (Y/N)'s disappearance:

"My beloved Alexander,

The news that has reached my ears about your wife's disappearance has filled me with concern, both for you and for the impact that this situation may have on your heart and your kingdom.

I can imagine the pain and uneasiness that you must be feeling. I know that, despite my initial reluctance to accept your choice, (Y/N) has become part of your life, and her absence must be a difficult blow to bear. As a mother, my heart goes out to you, but as a Queen, I feel obliged to speak frankly.

Your wife's disappearance is not only a personal tragedy; it is also an event that reverberates throughout your court and throughout your empire. Your allies will question your strength, your enemies may see it as an opportunity, and the people, always eager for stories, will create rumors that may tarnish your image.

Therefore, my son, I ask that you hold your head high and your mind clear. Your grief is legitimate, but your responsibility as King demands that you not allow it to consume you. Investigate the disappearance with all diligence, but do so with wisdom and prudence. Make sure that your search for answers does not compromise your leadership or distract you from your greater goals.

If your wife has been the victim of misfortune, may the truth be discovered and justice prevail. If there is more to it — conspiracy or betrayal — may your intellect and strength unravel the mystery and ensure that no greater harm befalls you or your kingdom.

Know that I am here to support you, as I always have been. If you need advice, resources, or strength, do not hesitate to turn to me. Even if we have disagreed in the past, my loyalty to you is unwavering.

And above all, Alexander, remember that you are the son of a god and a Queen. There is no storm you cannot weather, no shadow that can extinguish your light.

With love and devotion, Olympias."

Letter from Olympias to Alexander after the news of Perdiccas' betrayal:

"My beloved Alexander,

The news that has reached me is as serious as it is painful. Knowing that (Y/N) has been kidnapped by Perdiccas, a man you once called a friend, is a deep wound not only in your heart, but also in the honor of your empire.

I confess that I am overcome with fury and indignation. Betrayal is the most vile of crimes, even more so when it comes from someone who shared your childhood, your battles, and your trust. Perdiccas not only betrayed you as King, but he also dishonored the bonds of friendship and loyalty that once united him to you.

It does not surprise me that the Persians should be the fate of a traitor such as he. His choice to ally himself with our enemies only reinforces the nature of his treachery. But, Alexander, do not allow anger to blind you. This is a time to act with strategy and with the wisdom that made you the greatest of leaders.

Your wife is now in the hands of a man no longer worthy of your compassion. Rescuing her is more than a personal duty; it is a demonstration to the world that no one can defy Alexander and get away with it. Organize your forces, but do so cautiously. Every step must be calculated, every move decisive. And when you take her back, my son, show no mercy to your enemies.

And remember, my son, that Perdiccas's betrayal is not only an offense to you, but to all who believe in you and follow your leadership. This act of disloyalty must be met with firmness, so that it may serve as a lesson to all who dare challenge you.

Know that I am here to support you, as I have always been. If you need advice or resources, send me a word, and I will do what I can to strengthen your position. And never forget, Alexander, that your strength lies not only in your sword, but also in your ability to inspire loyalty and fear in equal measure.

May your anger be just, your strategy infallible, and your victory certain.

With love and determination, Your mother, Olympias."

Letter from Olympias to Alexander after the birth of the twins:

"My beloved Alexander,

Upon receiving the news of the birth of your children, my grandchildren, my heart overflows with joy and pride. Cyrus and Aella — such strong names, so full of meaning and destiny — are now part of our lineage, bringing hope and continuity to your legacy.

Know that this is a moment that marks not only your life, but the history of your entire empire. The birth of your heirs symbolizes the promise of a great future and the perpetuation of what you have achieved with so much effort and determination.

I can only imagine the sparkle in your eyes as you hold each of them for the first time. The responsibility you already carry as a king now multiplies, for you are not only the leader of an empire, but also the father of two souls who depend on you to guide them through this world. I know you will be as great a father as you are a king, for your heart, though often hardened by battle, is capable of loving deeply.

Cyrus, with a name that evokes the greatness of ancient kings, carries within him the strength and leadership that shaped our people. Aella, whose name evokes the winds and freedom, will bring balance, grace, and wisdom to our family. Together, these two little ones will be living proof of your strength and your love.

I want to meet my grandchildren as soon as possible. I want to hold them, look into their eyes, and see the sparks of your greatness and courage in them. I want to tell them stories of their ancestors, of your journey, and of the glories you brought into the world.

As your mother, my heart is filled with love for these children who are now part of our family. I want to know them, hold them in my arms, and offer them the protection and love that I have always given you. I also want to be by your side, helping you guide them so that they grow not only as heirs to a great empire, but as people worthy of their position and their history.

May your wife be well after bringing these two precious children into the world. Send her my blessings and my respect, for she has played a sacred role in strengthening our lineage. Despite the hardships we have faced in the past, I see now that she is destined to be an essential part of your life and our empire.

Alexandre, this is a new chapter in your life, and I know you will rise to this challenge, just as you have risen to all the others. Being a father is an honor and a responsibility that requires not only strength, but also patience, wisdom, and unconditional love. I am certain that you will be as extraordinary a father as you are a leader.

Know that I am here, ready to help in any way you need, whether as a grandmother, as a counselor, or simply as someone who loves you above all else. May Cyrus and Aella grow up surrounded by love, guided by your example, and blessed by the gods.

With all my love and pride, Your mother, Olympias."

#tlq #the lost queen #history #x reader #yandere history #yandere historical characters #olympias #alexander the great x reader #yandere alexander the great x reader #letters #love letters #yandere letters #sorta of #commission #💻 anon

205 notes · View notes